


What Polly Did Next

by Huggeroftrees



Series: Polly/Mal [1]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Female Protagonist, Military, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 58,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggeroftrees/pseuds/Huggeroftrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Monstrous Regiment could be filed under “What Polly Did” this would fall under the remit of “What Polly Did Next” telling as it does the joys trials and tribulations of our eponymous heroine, picking up sometime in the year following the final paragraph of MR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The characters and the world they inhabit belong in their entirety to Sir Terry Pratchett. The author makes no claims of ownership and no profit is being made from this work.

~X~

# Summer

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own,  
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone,  
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream,  
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream,  
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face,  
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space,

Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.

The Windmills of your Mind

Words & Music by Alan & Marilyn Bergman & Michel Legrand. Recorded by Dusty Springfield, 1969

 

~X~

 

If you were a god, travelling through the cosmos, drifting across the great expanse of space, you might be surprised to come across a turtle swimming toward you through the infinite darkness. It is unlikely that you would expect the four elephants standing on the back of the shell, and you might drift closer to see how they could be supporting a disc which revolves slowly without any visible mechanism.

 _Who_ , you might think to yourself, _lives on such a world, so flat and so impossible?_

With your interest piqued you may perhaps drift closer to have a better look. Wafting in ethereal form over the surface you would be astonished to see the many different types of people who live there. [ _However, it would probably be at this point that you would be struck by a thunderbolt and crash to a fiery ocean demise. The gods of the Discworld don’t play well with others and as yet haven’t learnt how to share._ ]

But having come so far, let us examine further, moving quickly over the plains cities, as nothing interesting ever happens there. Let the eye focus instead on the boiling nationalism of the mountain states. Not Überwald, an echo of Ankh-Morpork now, but Borogravia -taking her first wobbling steps into the dawn of a new world, which may or may not contain a great big fish.

Our interest here is not in the bustling cities, traced out from this height by the march of clacks towers, but instead in the confusing corners of the map, where the mountains bunch up like sheets in a nightmare and faint traced markings warn “here be dragons”. No one lives here if they can help it, though the eye might seek out an occasional farm or woodcutter’s cottage clinging to the mountain sides up above the deep forests where no man goes. The roads wind along the shoulders of the slopes, twisting in switchbacks along the contours, climbing higher and higher in dusty effort to escape the valley bottoms below. This is border country, though (unusually for Borogravia) the line is not generally contested. However a scattering of forts punctuate the frontier, merely for the look of the thing, and up on the higher slopes men sit in observation posts or scrabble over the rocks in endless patrols, bemoaning fate and the mistakes that brought them here.

A few of them look up as a cry rings out over the valley, squinting into the sun until they sight the eagle wheeling overhead. These great birds are king of the mountains, drifting on the thermals and looking down, in all meanings of the word, on the two-legged bunglers struggling below. From an eagles eye view, all the mountains are one mountain, a rocky paradise cleft deeply as though scarred by giant claws. One massive hunting ground of interesting things that wiggle and run.

Today the eagle is hunting away from the high peaks, where the valleys run into one another, interlinking as small becks flow into larger streams, growing ever wider and deeper and gaining power. Below him two tributaries join together and a river becomes worthy of the description, carving out a wider valley capable of human colonisation before dropping over boiling falls into a long canyon of echoes and flowing away to the real world hundreds of miles downstream.

Above the falls, where the roads meet is a larger gathering of houses, a village anywhere else, but here called a town, with castle above for all the protection it can offer. This is the heartbeat of the Border Patrol, the place where bureaucracy happens. From here orders and men are sent out and reports and a veritable cornucopia of supplies delivered. It is a town many call home, though most arriving at the start of their tour of duty call it something else entirely when they first see it and discover the reality of the consequences of persistent insolence, or determined incapability.

The eagle will go no closer, denying us a glimpse into the castle. But the eye continues non-the-less, gliding over the outer walls, surprised by the thermals rising from the kitchens, to soar above guard towers before swooping down again over the courtyards. Our destination is a small office on the second floor where, walled in by grey stone, a supply clerk sits, ledgers open in front of her.

Thus is Sergeant Polly (previously Oliver) Perks introduced. It is late summer and she swelters in her tiny room, suffocated by paperwork; stores and ledgers, schedules and reports. A fitting punishment for one so brazen as to stick a spoke in the smooth running of the army, taking on the high command with nothing more than a book of scrawled names to stop a war dead in it’s tracks by mere effrontery.

Buried beneath documents, there let her lie.

~X~

The scream of the eagle dropped into Polly’s afternoon torpor, distracting her momentarily from the columns of numbers marching across the page. Her head lifted and her soul strained to follow the free flight across the skies, for a second forgetting her captivity. But the window was small, framing only a constricted square of blue sky and the eagle was way up out of sight. Her terrestrial chains brought home with a thud, she returned to her ledgers.

She didn’t run to the window any more when she heard the eagle cry. There would be no point. She had accepted many long months back that payment was owed for what she did. The human mind adapts swiftly to constraint and nowadays it was only in her dreams that she reached out for freedom.

And so the afternoon rolled on. Ledgers were completed and put aside. Gradually the in-tray emptied. Forms were filled out and filed away. She worked with quiet efficiency developed from months of practice. They had made her into a good clerk. With a wry smile she considered that she may in fact be of more use to the army in this position than anywhere else they might have thought to send her. At this a new interruption broke into her thoughts as drifting in through the window came the distant chant of new troops marching up the road through the town.

 _Poor buggers_. She paused, her mind drifting away from the files she held ready to shelve away. _What would this mixed batch have been sent here for? Repeated untidiness? Persistent cleverness in the face of stupidity? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time?_ _Or maybe just an inconvenient memory that refused to be ignored._

She put down the files and strolled over to the window, the eagle still wheeling somewhere above, unseen, but his cry falling down calling her to freedom.

She put down the files and strolled over to the window, the eagle still wheeling somewhere above, unseen, but his cry falling down calling her to freedom. _Not today_ she thought as her eye moved from the open sky to the courtyard below, where the line of troops was stumbling in through the imposing gates. A solid sergeant led the column, yet another drunk by the look of him, the landlord of _The Log And Wedge_ would be pleased with the extra custom. The men looked tired and thirsty, the long march up the valley road having given them all a throat-scratching patina of dust. Polly’s gaze drifted idly over the ranks until it reached the corporal bringing up the rear, and there abruptly halted. She gasped, her brain stalling and falling into a tailspin, hands reaching out to steady a no longer stable stance. Rational thought and logical conclusion production processes, generally her loyal companions, had stuttered to a halt. Arising from that brief moment of recognition two overriding truths were all that existed in her world.

 _* * * One: You need to be down there, right now, this minute._

 _* * *Two: The place that you stand currently is not the place you should be._

 _ *** ! * ! * For The Duchess’ Sake! GO!**_

And the body responded, running on instinct only, fired by months of desperate loneliness. Racing footsteps sped down the corridor, taking the stairs two at a time, gravity adding to her momentum until she took the last six steps in a flying leap to the stone paved hall, her headlong rush carrying her onward, curious stares following after until the bright light of outdoors drew her to a shuddering halt, uncertain, at the edge of the courtyard.

 _Was she sure it was Mal?_ Rationally there was no reason why the vampire should be here at the squalid end of the world. Was it just her brain conjuring up an image of someone, _anyone_ she knew to assuage the aching desolation?

It was Mal though, standing thin and tired in the bright clear light of the courtyard, drawn up and silent behind that false front.

 _She was here_. The relief washed over Polly from head to foot, dissolving the tight bands that gripped her, that over the months she had adapted to surviving with. Able at last to draw in a clean breath she felt the chill trickling into tight muscles forced to release their clamping hold. She had forgotten how good it felt simply to breathe deep.

 _Oh, Mal. I missed you._

Her heart clenched again as another thought struck her. _What if the girl didn't recognise her? What if she didn't want to see Polly?_ If Mal’s eyes should close her out, this her friend from old, what would she do?

But it didn’t matter and Polly shrugged off the tension. Mal was here and whether it went wrong or right from this moment on they would work something out. The smile that had been slowly moving up from somewhere around her stomach burst out at last. There was someone here who shared her past, a lifeline in an ocean of isolation. As Polly stepped forward, out into the sudden light of the courtyard she realised this must be how Mal felt about coffee.

~X~

Following the cavalcade of dust up the road Mal found her thoughts once again falling into the familiar depression that had kept company with her for a good while now. _Hot. Tired. Miserable._ Her mind trod again the well-known boards of the old treadmill. _Another Blasted Fort. Another Blasted Posting. Another Blasted Job._

She should never have signed up again.

The reiterations bumbled along in time with her marching feet, the litany floating above the deeper grinding wretchedness of having no other choice than to keep going. She would be the first to admit it; the constant struggle had worn her down.

The old temptation surfaced again, to leave, get out, fly away as far as possible and start again someplace new. What did it matter that she had given her word? Wasn’t she, a vampire, expected to be faithless? Yet somehow that made her all the more determined to stay. She would _not_ break her word. She would not be _that_ person.

But as she looked down the months still left to serve she was conscious more than ever that the price was too high.

They marched on and on, the road a dusty hell to be added to the list of ways the army had found to annoy her over the past year. The reinforcements had been marching for weeks, she hadn’t even realised Borogravia stretched this far. Coughing through the smog she grimaced as it was driven home to her that the powers that be had finally washed their hands of her and handed her over to fate for a good kicking.

It was in this dark mood that she stumbled in through some overly decorated gates into a courtyard and came to attention with the rest of the squad. In previous postings she would have summoned up a withering comment on the décor, but what was the point? There was no one here who would appreciate it anyway.

Then, as she stood there drooping, the world decided to change. She picked up the sound of flying feet, and a drab figure staggered out into the courtyard as though unable to stop her headlong rush.

 _Polly?_

And in that moment she knew her. Mal’s thoughts jarred and split into a million confusing pieces. Why would Polly be here? Her tired mind struggled to understand, there was just no sense in it at all. She swayed where she stood, fighting for comprehension and then Polly was there, enveloping strong arms holding her up. Sighing out her tiredness with the struggle, the army and the world, Mal put her head down on that welcoming shoulder and found peace.

~X~

Polly always wondered if it had been her thundering heartbeat that had drawn Mal’s attention. The rapid drumming produced by her headlong rush down the stairs had been joined by a curious skipping irregularity. More prosaically it could just have the movement in the corner of her eye that brought that dark head whipping round.

The eyes drank her in, startling Polly with their intensity. Mal looked at her as though she were a dream one had wandered long to find and yet always woken empty handed. Had life been as bad for her in the months that lay between them on the pitted cobbles? Meeting those eyes, nothing in the world could have stopped Polly stepping across the last gap and gathering up the slim form.

She wouldn’t say she’d thought deeply on the matter, but a small corner of her mind had been expecting some sort of rejection. But to her surprise Mal held on like a person drowning, her grip so tight that for a moment Polly couldn’t breathe. Then the girl seemed to sense her struggles and loosened the death grip, dropping her head instead to that shoulder and burying her face in the curls gathering at her neck (No material could survive the speed Polly had achieved down the flight of stairs and her hair had once again escaped the neat tie she used to keep it out of the way).

Vampires were not meant to be tired and put their head down on your shoulder. But then vampires were not meant to be lowly Corporals in the army able to be posted to distant border posts where they had been longed for by miserable disgraced abominable Sergeants. Polly merely rejoiced and gently stroked the thin shoulder blades under her hand. As she stood quietly within the protective circle of those arms Mal drew in a huge breath, as though by getting the essence into her lungs it would become part of her and she could hold this moment for ever.

 _Oh, Polly. I missed you._

~X~

For a moment they stood there, apart from the world and uncommented on by it. But the disc turns onward and life in the army must go on likewise. A disconcerted muttering from the squad broke the spell and the two figures drew apart, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Reality flowed back into their personal worlds and Polly was surprised to see growing shock replace the previous hunger in Mal’s eyes, almost as though the girl was afraid. _For that moment had she really not known Polly was real? Been betrayed into truth regarding what she had really thought of their friendship all that time ago?_ Impossible, Polly decided. It was much more likely to be merely shame from revealing such vulnerability. Vampires were supposed to be strong and unshakeable; they didn’t feel loneliness or despair. As she looked over once again into those dark eyes Polly found the old mocking walls raised once more and retreated.

Mal stepped back, fighting to overcome confusion and embarrassment. Polly was really here, this time it wasn’t a dream. And Mal had been caught staring, betrayed into revealing more than she had intended about what she wanted. _Hadn’t she promised herself not to confuse this one?_ Polly was a friend, possibly her only friend right now, and she didn’t want to mess that up. Perhaps Polly hadn’t noticed, Mal thought ignoring the numerous voices that hurried to bring examples of the girl’s perceptiveness in times past. Drawing down the mocking mask she attempted to slip back into the old light ways, producing the standard small smile of welcome amusement. _She wasn’t to know that unless she was careful, when said smile touched on Polly it spread to her eyes and went supernova._

They struggled with small talk for a moment, before Polly made her excuses and, dragging herself away, went back to the small room with the grey walls that had been her prison for so long. A less generous commentator might draw attention to the fact she spent a good deal of the next hour staring into space, but we will draw a veil over that.

~X~

Early evening found Polly still deep in her ledgers. She didn’t usually stay so late, but you know paperwork, it can really pile up if you don’t keep on top of it. The small voice whispering “and if you stay here she’ll know where to find you” was resolutely ignored. She had thought it best to leave Mal alone to settle in with the rest of the new arrivals. The pouncing in the courtyard had been bad enough. Polly blushed to think how that must have looked. After that, following the girl around like a lost puppy wasn’t really a great idea, for all its temptations. Polly was a sergeant after all, besides she had work to do. Important army related work.

So she had buried herself in the paperwork; taking comfort from the reports of stores required and received, personal files that needed updating and ledger after ledger of neat numbers. Somewhere someone’s heart was singing, but that couldn’t be her, she was a staid sergeant, reliable and good at her job.

The few hours quiet reflection led her to the conclusion that everything had got a bit out of hand down in the courtyard and what she really needed right now was a friend. With this in mind it would probably be best not to frighten away the only person who fit that description within a 200 mile radius by over enthusiastic displays of affection. It wasn’t even like Mal was a demonstrative sort anyway! Polly had worried for a good hour that she would vanish away out of shock and discomfort. The toll on her nervous system had been expressed by nibbling. The official pencil would never be the same.

Eventually the army ran out of things to force corporals to do. Mal was released to her own devices and after some discreet enquiries found the half opened door on the second floor. At the knock, Polly looked up with an eagerness that would have surprised her clerk Corporal Ganzfield who had been on the receiving end of her expressive scowl at his necessary, nay vital, interruptions over the previous months. Her patience was finally rewarded, Mal stood framed in the doorway, diffident, which was odd for a vampire, uncertain almost. Reining in her instinctive beaming smile Polly found herself blushing instead and chided herself for it. Hadn’t she decided an hour ago to be grown up and mature about this? To hide her confusion she stammered out an apology for the pouncing earlier, determined to get the embarrassing conversation out of the way.

“It was just so good to see someone” she added in explanation. Wasn’t that the truth of it, deep down? Surely Polly would have pounced on any of the squad should they have turned up in this hellhole. It wasn’t like there was anything special between her and Mal. They were just friends. Mal produced a small smile and nod of agreement to Polly’s great relief. Though the sergeant wouldn’t have been quite so comforted had she been able to see the thoughts hiding behind that sardonic expression.

Following the time of confession and absolution the silence between them stretched a little overlong and so to break it Mal enquired in a general manner about the circumstances leading to a certain Sergeant Perks being stranded out here in the middle of nowhere. She knew of course something of the goings on at High Command. The efforts of the leader of the Monstrous Regiment to stop another war taking more of Borogravia’s sons had filtered out to all corners of the army. Plus Polly had told her before she went what she was planning.

“The Border Patrol apparently needed a sergeant most urgently at exactly the same time that I was released from Major Clogston’s staff. Odd that.” She quirked an eyebrow and received an understanding shrug in response. “But as they say, the army works in mysterious ways. And paperwork isn’t all that bad really.”

It wasn’t like Polly held any malice. She had been an annoyance, an obstacle in the way of progress and so she had been removed. It had been made clear to her that there was nothing personal in their response.

“And you?” She wondered whether to ask about the demotion to corporal. You never knew with Mal, it could have been for some high jinx extraordinaire of which she was justifiably proud.

“Ah _‘Posting’_.” Mal smiled that thin smile again. “What I can’t tell you about the intricacies of the transfer of a hard working soldier from unit to unit aren’t worth telling.” She leant in her most nonchalant manner against the doorframe. “You’d be surprised Polly, the things that can get you posted. I myself was astounded any number of times. The latest one was for singing I believe. The Major was somewhat against soldiers on fatigues in his billets singing loudly about hedgehogs when he had a hangover. I have no idea why.”

Polly had met the Mal brush-off enough times to recognise the signs and, thin ice crackling beneath her, racked her brain for a route back to safer ground. Glancing out of the window she was struck by inspiration and offered a tour of the town, dangling a visit to the coffee bar (hopefully they hadn’t shut yet) as a sweetener to the deal. Mal wasn’t keen at first but when Polly began to describe in detail the espresso machine they had at Fouquet's she wavered visibly and came down on the side of caffeination. Polly grinned, steel willed she may be, but Mal was a sucker for caffeine.

They wandered out into the quiet evening, Mal happy to find that the heat of the day dissipated quickly up here on the cool breezes coming off the mountainside. Striding out through the imposing gate she commented on the fact that no one appeared interested in their coming and going. Polly laughed, and the rest of the route was taken up with an explanation of how life in the army worked out here on the border.

“Basically,” she concluded “as long as you’re not supposed to be doing something tedious or out on Patrol, no one cares where you are.”

“I could get used to this” Mal mused, flicking stones off the bridge into the river. “Does anyone play Cripple Mr Onion out here?”

~X~

That night, as Mal wandered the dark corridors of the sleeping fort, she found herself humming quietly. The espresso they sold in the Le Fouquet's had only partly contributed to her good mood. All in all the day had definitely worked out better than she had envisaged when rudely awakened from her slumber this morning. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective glass of a portrait hung prominently on the wall and stopped to adjust her jacket. As she straightened the collar she took a moment to assess the colour once again and nodding decided it would do. “Corporal Maladict, Border Blues at your service” she whispered to her reflection and saw the self deprecating wince break out over the figure’s face. Great. Now she was talking to herself. Taking one last look she smoothed down the material and smiled. She couldn’t really regret the loss of the Cheesemongers red, blond hair went better with royal blue after all.

Exploring further she found a narrow staircase and climbed up and away from the lower levels to the more functional corridors above. She paused, leaning on an upper windowsill, and peered out into the cool night. Somewhere out there lay Polly, sleeping the sleep of the just. Obviously life had been a bit rough on the poor girl, out here on her own. But no matter, Mal was here now and would soon shake her out of this uncharacteristic slump. Wasn’t that what Mal was for? A mischievous grin danced over her lips as plans began to form in her fertile brain.

The shaded lanterns of the guards twinkled on the walls and lookout towers but were drowned out by the blanket of stars above. Picking out old favourites it came to mind that perhaps she should teach Polly about the stars. Turning away at last she strolled on and reaching the end of the passage, took the flight of stairs up to the attic level. Unsurprisingly the one room she was interested in, lying as it did at the very end of the corridor, was locked but she’d been carrying lock-picks for a while now and it only took her a few minutes to get the door open and slip inside. This would do nicely she thought, there was a good solid beam to hang on and no one was likely to come investigating with a stake all the way up here. Removing her new jacket and boots she swung up onto the beam and settled in for the night. A tomorrow filled with possibilities awaited.

~X~


	2. Autumn

~X~

  


# Autumn

Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head;  
Why did summer go so quickly? Was it something that I said?  
Lovers walk along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand;  
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?  
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragments of a song,  
Half-remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?  
When you knew that it was over, were you suddenly aware  
That the autumn leaves were turning to the colour of her hair?

The Windmills of your Mind  
Words & Music by Alan & Marilyn Bergman & Michel Legrand. Recorded by Dusty Springfield, 1969

~X~

 _**“Oh, Go Bite Someone Already!!!”** _

As the raised voice of his Sergeant came bouncing down the corridor Corporal Ganzfield sighed and shook his head before returning his attention to the signal forms. Tuesday seemed to come round quicker every week.

It had been two months since the arrival of Corporal Maladict. Life at the fort had quickly woven the new troops into its routine. Mal had been sent on her first Patrol and returned with the vampire equivalent of sunburn and an open invitation to the guardroom’s Saturday night Cripple-Mr-Onion game. She’d sauntered off to take up the offer the very next weekend, Polly’s warning not to fleece them out of all their wages on her first visit echoing in her ears, and henceforth Tuesdays had become the bane of everyone’s existence.

The customary drinking that accompanied the Saturday night game meant the participants used the rest of the weekend to sleep off the associated hangover. This left Monday full of empty hours for Mal to develop the details of whatever crazy plan had been thought up in drink and Tuesdays had thus become the day of reckoning. Tuesdays, _pre-Mal_ , had always been a quiet productive day when Sergeant Perks had rejoiced in processing and sending off the mess supplies for the week. _Post-Mal_ they had become filled with the need to avoid an over excited vampire with a plan.

After a few of these plans produced near disasters Polly had started going along to the game night with the intention of nipping any ideas in the bud before they burgeoned into anything serious. So far her efforts were having minimal effect. If anything the plans were getting crazier and Corporal Ganzfield had developed a suspicion that the card players were spiking her drinks. So they had adjusted. As each Tuesday rolled round again the whole castle braved itself for the next outburst of inanity knowing they would at least have something to talk about over dinner and breakfast for the rest of the week. In general folks had come to accept it as a bearable side effect of having Maladict around.

But today’s outburst was odd; especially as Corporal Ganzfield knew their workload wasn’t even that heavy today. Though he hated to admit it, Sergeant Perks had some great ideas for increasing efficiency and since the _Tuesday Madness_ had begun to penetrate even the upper levels of castle life Polly had shuffled her workload to allow for emergencies. With her gift of knowing when to delegate, revealed more and more since the vampire had been popping round with tempting invitations for mid morning breaks at a certain coffee shop that frequently ran into long lunches, there wasn’t even anything she _was_ supposed to be doing today.

“Definitely surprising” mused Ganzfield, glancing up as Corporal Maladict stumbled past his door in a daze. But as one of the reasons he made such a good administrative clerk was his general lack of nosiness he put the problem to one side, returning to his forms.

~X~

Polly sat white faced, staring at the empty space where the vampire had stood. _How had it come to this?_ She had only meant to fob off the corporal for a while. Time enough to allow her to take stock, to work out where their friendship was going. She hadn’t meant _this_. Dropping her head to the desk with a thud she swore under her breath. It was all the fault of that darn pothole in the road up from the town.

In truth Polly had been concerned for a while now, ever since she’d found herself missing Mal those two weeks she was out on patrol. She’d caught herself wondering how it was going up there on the mountain, whether Mal was making friends. The relief she’d felt when she saw the Corporal had come back somehow released, as though the expanse of sky above had lifted a weight from her shoulders was understandable. No, what worried her was her response to the smile Mal had thrown in her direction as the patrol came wandering through the outer gate dusty and tired, comrades all laughing together. That smile that had caused Polly’s heart to bound in her chest and warmth to flood through her entire body.

That had started her wondering and once she’d started she couldn’t stop. She knew they were friends, a friendship where Mal was still allowed to mock everyone and everything indiscriminately including Polly, invade Polly’s office whenever she felt the need to drag her away for an extended coffee break and generally disrupt her ordered yet miserable life. So far Polly wasn’t complaining. She knew there were boundaries. Mal’s mocking eyes kept her at arms length, and that was fine. But recently, she had begun to think there was something else going on. Mal’s attitude toward her had changed, become warmer. Was it really just an evolution of their friendship?

 _Thrall_ was a dirty word she wished she’d never heard of. Vampires were famed for it, even amongst Black Ribboners, revelling in the ability to get what they wanted without any effort. She’d avoided even considering the idea when it first came to mind, but the possibility was there. Mal was a vampire and vampires were coded to thrall. There was always the possibility that their friendship meant nothing at all, and that was a thought that brought something akin to pain and a frightening clutching at her insides.

Not wanting to accuse anyone unjustly she’d been suppressing her worries for a while but things had come to a head last weekend when she’d stumbled over that damn pothole coming back from the pub and Mal, who had been walking beside her, had dropped quickly to her knees to check she was ok. Grasping the strong arm outstretched to lift her up Polly had looked up and it was what she’d seen that rippled through her mind now. The usually shielded eyes had softened into gentleness their mocking light dissolved into anxious warmth. Crouching there, the damp from the pavement creeping into her breeches Polly had felt a familiar cold fear clutch at her heart.

“I’m _fine_ thank you Corporal.” She had withdrawn her arm abruptly and clambered to her feet alone.

Only someone who knew Mal as well as Polly did would have caught that flicker of confusion before the shield was raised once more. Slipping back into her comfortable mocking persona Mal had turned to the others, waiting somewhat impatiently for them to catch up and declaimed:

 __

“Silly Sergeant slipped and stumbled,  
Skulking home from sinful spot.  
If silly Sergeant had been sober…” 

Mal had waved her finger mockingly under Polly’s nose and the group, ever obedient, had responded with a chorus of tutting.

 __

“Spinning Disc would not have stopped!”

She had then bowed graciously in response to their mocking applause and throwing an unreadable look over her shoulder at Polly she had linked arms with two of the gang and continued up the road.

Polly trailed behind them all the way into the castle and once there, as there was no explainable reason why she shouldn’t, she had joined the card game that had sprung up. Nothing untoward had happened for the rest of the night. Nothing at all. And yet now that she was paying attention every little nuance seemed to hold great significance. She had taken her usual position next to Mal. She never played but it was her custom to revel in mocking her neighbour’s cards and whisper a distracting commentary during quiet moments. That night something was different. Mal’s closeness had been awkward instead of comforting, Polly all too aware of a leg pressed up against hers under the table as they shifted around to squeeze in another player, the nudges coming from her left suddenly unwelcome. And when Mal had gone to refill their mugs and leant over the back of Polly’s chair to place them on the table Polly had had to suppress the urge to cringe away.

Mal never emerged from the Saturday night recovery period until late morning on Tuesday and over the two days grace she’d been given Polly had had plenty of time to think carefully on what it all might mean. So it was that when Mal had knocked politely at her open door, smiled when Polly had looked up and invited her to lunch, she’d said no.

Mal had blinked but accepted the change in routine. For all the army was boring sometimes in its habits there were occasions when unexpected hiccups demanded the full attention of the Supply Office. Not recently admittedly, but the possibility was there. Always ready to help the army in whatever it might require, Mal merely enquired if Polly was busy.

“Er, yeah.”

“No worries.” At some point a visit to Ankh Morpork had introduced the vampire to the vocabulary of Four-Ecks and she’d absorbed it like a sponge. “Do you want to grab lunch later?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

 _Ok, so Polly had got into the habit of taking coffee with Mal at Fouquets. And yes, they often ended up grabbing lunch at the same time. But did thatt mean she had to do it everyday? Mal shouldn’t expect her to be always free to help her polish her ridiculous plans. The army was paying her to work after all, not sit around in cafés discussing the meaning of life and the role of coffee in the universe!_

Polly carefully didn’t thought about the current lack of paper demands in her in tray. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Mal sighed, stepped over the threshold and leant in her most nonchalant attitude against the door frame.

“What’s up, Pol?”

“Nothing.”

Without looking up Polly reached for another file and opened it. It was a requisition form for stirrup leathers but she gave it her full attention Mal would take the hint.

“You should know I’ve got nothing planned for the rest of the morning and it’s been said I’m very good at settling in for the duration.” As Polly turned a page Mal added, “how long d’you reckon you can hold out for?”

The recipient of her question continued to pointedly ignore her. In the silence they could hear the rough tones of someone addressing the finer points of swordmanship with some useless specimens of humanity. Kettering was having fun again. Polly eventually put down the file, placing her hands deliberately on the neatly labelled folder.

“I was thinking maybe we shouldn’t spend so much time together.”

“Oh.” Mal broke a couple of laws of physics by appearing to relax even further. “Any specific reason as to why?”

Polly looked down, uselessly shuffling some paperwork. She muttered something into her forms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said,” Polly tried to find a better way to phrase it. “I said: I guess it’s a bit odd.”

“What is?”

“This!” Polly jerked an explanatory hand, the gesture encompassing the two of them.

“You taking a coffee break?” Mal’s brow quirked. “I don’t think I understand Polly. Even Ganzfield takes a carefully timed fifteen minutes at 10:35 and 3:20.”

“Not the Coffee!”

“What then?”

Mal may have been trying to help but she was just increasing Polly’s frustration.

“You’re always around and stuff!”

That struck home, Mal blinked and took a step away from the doorframe.

“I’m always around?”

“You know. Coffee breaks, lunch, invites to drinks with the lads, all the card games. It just looks a bit odd, Mal.”

“Odd?”

Yes. Odd.”

Polly snuck a glance at the very very very calm vampire whose hands were slowly clenching and unclenching at her sides. There was a rather long and worrying silence before Mal finally spoke.

“I Was _Trying_ To Be Friendly!”

“Well it came out weird!”

“Then I’m sorry!” They were both shouting now. “It was not my intention to freak you out by the judicial application of mere kindness!”

An echoing silence fell between them as they both processed what had been said. Then her gaze on the paperwork as if she knew if she met Mal’s eyes she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to the sticking point Polly asked simply “Did you _Thrall_ me?”

“NO!”

Her shout startled them both. Mal took a breath and started again.

“You don’t realise what you’re asking Polly.” She struggled to explain. “I don’t do that. Not on purpose. I just… Not _that_. Not for ages and _never_ since I took the Ribbon. It’s like a human, well… to make you do something against you will, to make you want to do it, it’s… I just wouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

And Polly was, seeing now in Mal’s eyes an old hurt uncovered and scraped raw again by her unfeeling words.

“Sometimes yes, they do stuff. But it’s because they think I’ll like it – I don’t ask. I don’t ever want them to.”

“I just thought…”

“I can’t believe you would think that of me!” Mal came back at her then, anger kindling in place of her previous vulnerability. “Is that what you think I am, that I’m that kind of person?”

“I _said_ I was sorry!”

“Yeah. You _said._ ”

Mal had withdrawn somewhere Polly couldn’t reach. They had argued before, many many times, over Mal’s stupid idiotic crazy plans, over whether she should allow someone else to win at cards for once and at times long and exhaustively over whether they should have gateau or cheese for desert at Fouquets. _And why hadn’t Polly remembered that before? Surely one didn’t argue with someone if one were in thrall to them. **That** gave her pause. Had she treated Mal fairly over this? Or just jumped to conclusions over a warming of her manner?_ Now was perhaps not the time to go into that however, Mal was still standing before her ice-cold, drawn up and furious. Now would be the time to apologise extensively, to back down and to do her best to soothe over the hurt she had unwittingly caused. But unfortunately Polly was a normal human being, not a saint of the first order (Saints in the Army having been Banned after one Joanne of Arcadia lost them the battle of Wounded Kneck) and the nagging feeling that she might have gone about this the wrong way translated into sulky annoyance. Thus it was that she heard with shock the words coming out of her mouth.

“If you’re going to be childish about it…”

“Childish?” Mal took breath. “So, it’s childish to think that perhaps my friends might trust me to control my baser instincts in their company? To realise that I would never do anything that might harm them?”

And that was when Polly had said the words that couldn’t be unsaid.

Left alone at her desk Polly dropped her head into her hands, cursing herself. She hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant it at all and would do anything to grab back the words that had flown out of her mouth. She couldn’t wipe the image from her mind of Mal’s white face, shock etched across those prominent cheekbones. The flash of pain screaming out to her across the room before Mal locked all emotion away and turned to step straight-backed out into the corridor, the door carefully closing behind her.

 _What had she done?_

~X~

The sulks that followed were legendary. Over the next week a mountain of paperwork was processed through the Regimental Clerk’s office (Private Mahler found himself dispatched home when his leave application – languishing at the bottom of the pile for so long he’d forgotten sending it in himself - was processed and approved) and Mal found interesting new ways to get from one end of the castle to the other without passing by the supply clerks office.

It surprised Polly to find she missed the regular interruptions, apparently one could even get used to inane comments and distracted company should one be exposed to it for long enough. No matter. If one could get used to a thing, one could just as quickly get used to its absence.

She was staring out of an upper window at Mal drinking coffee dejectedly in the courtyard below when a cough at her shoulder caused her to jump six feet into the air and give out a maidenly scream. Spinning around she took in the sight of a tall menacing man all in black and relaxed, placing a calming hand over her wildly beating heart. It was only Sergeant Goldhawk. He withdrew his hands from the pockets of his long black coat (a known alumni from the Assassins School he had never come to understand the concept of uniform and no-one seemed willing to explain it to him) and stepped forward to join her in the window. She wondered for a moment if Mal would hire him to do away with her, and if so would he agree?

“You and the stuck-up corporal have had a bit of a divergence of opinion I understand?”

“Mwuh?” The look of astonished denial she shot at him was wasted as he seemed engrossed in the small figure sipping delicately far below.

“You weren’t at the game last night.” Polly had to give him that. “Plus it’s a small fort”

“We may have had a small disagreement over a personal matter. Nothing to disrupt the smooth passage of day to day life.”

“It’s bloody well disrupting mine.” He turned to her at last. “Make up for Pete’s sake; he won pretty much every game last night without you to distract him and Kettering for one wasn’t best pleased. There’ll be hell to pay if he carries on like this and you know it.”

He nodded at her and left, his piece said, his mind at peace once again. But after he’d gone she remained, gazing down into the now empty courtyard as she mused on his words. Goldhawk had the air of sizing you up in a way that said you could keep on being amusing as so far no-one had paid him enough to kill you, but should anyone come up with a reasonable offer you should really watch out for the very sharp blades you just knew he had secreted somewhere about his person. She liked him.

Having decided to be the bigger man (or abomination) Polly then had the problem of finding Mal. The castle wasn’t that big, but as she traipsed along one long empty corridor after another Polly found it was quite large enough to hide a reasonably sized vampire should said vampire not want to be found. She eventually caught up with the object of her search in the lower kitchens, empty at this hour, brewing up over the stove.

She may have been quiet in her entrance, but the figure lifted a head before she got halfway across the room.

“I’m not talking to you, Polly. I thought even you’d have the brains to work that out by now.”

 _How did she do that? She hadn’t even turned round!_ But Polly wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted from her task no matter how unpleasant. She kept walking.

“Mal, listen to me for a minute, _please_. I’m sorry. I was out of line to say what I said. I didn’t understand what I was asking and now that I get it I need you to know I would never have thought that about you. I know you’re not like that.” The stiff back was within reach now and she reached out a tentative hand. “I am sorry, Mal. Really.”

The vampire must have known she was there surely, what with the heartbeat that Polly could hear pounding in her hears. But when Mal turned round she seemed shocked beyond bearing that Polly was so close, within arms reach. Her startled flinch and hurried step away hurt more than the cold rejection of her short statement of denial and Polly was left to look after her as she hurried away, the door slamming loud behind her in the empty silence.

That was that then. She’d ruined whatever friendship she’d had with the contradictory vampire over a stupid fear that she hadn’t even examined properly, preferring to put her intelligence to once side in order to listen to her emotions. Once again she’d acted on a whim and once again it had got her into trouble. There was nothing to do but stick her chin out and take it, she’d made her bed and now it seemed she had to lie on it alone. Damn and blast the vampire, it was enough to make a girl cry, even one who’d got a reputation as a hardboiled sergeant in the Borogravian Army. Polly sniffed quietly into her sleeve, wiped her eyes thoroughly and went back to work.

And so it went on. Polly got up, went to work, filled out a mountain of forms into the late evening and then went to bed. She didn’t see Mal and though it was a struggle she consoled herself with the fact that after a while the ache would lessen somewhat. Goldhawk gave her a look, but once the truth got round (from Mal) that some little pipsqueak of a dumb sergeant had tried to fiddle her way around an upstanding corporal of the Border Blues (Mal again) he looked on her with more kindness and saved the killing glares for a certain Corporal Maladict.

But it couldn’t last, and one night Polly was awoken by a disjointed frenzy of knocking at her door. When she managed to drag it open (ignoring the pain in her toe from an unfortunate collision with the desk) she found a wild eyed apparition quivering violently in the corridor.

“Do you think anything eats wasps?”

Polly stared.

“I was thinking, all the other insects are probably running around in constant fear of them but they’re only little, we squash them without even thinking, in fact I saw you swat one with a file only the other day, and I was thinking that somewhere there must be something that eats them, everything gets eaten at some point (or squashed with files) and Bob said that there was a tribe out in Howondaland that ate all kinds of weird stuff so maybe they eat wasps, but you’d probably have to remove the sting and that could be nasty if your hands slipped, and how would you catch them anyway? You’d need a wasp catching net or something…”

Mal ran down, a thought struggling to be heard over the sparkling fireworks currently occupying her brain. She frowned. “Why are you here, Polly?”

“This is my office, Mal.”

“I know and it’s a very nice office, very nice indeed, though you do spend too much time here Polly, you should be out and about more, you’re always buried in paperwork with that paperworky frown on your face, scowling at forms. You shouldn’t frown so much Pol. You’ve got a lovely smile you know, and it does wonders for the aging of muscles in the face, smiling that is. Why, all this frowning and you’ll be a wrinkled hag by the time you’re thirty. I guess that’s why I kept trying to drag you out to lunch, trying to get that smile back. I thought maybe a bit of fresh air would do you a power of good and of course you need feeding up, not that I was fattening you up for the eating, I mean we don’t do that anyway – fat in the blood ruins the flavour, nice bit of lean meat is what puts hairs on your chest, not that you need hairs on your chest.”

She paused, her train of through de-railed by unexpected engineering works. Polly was still taking in her appearance and so missed the chance to butt in with the questions that had begun to bubble up slowly through layers of sleep. Switching tracks to avoid the bus replacement service, Mal tried again.

“ _Anyway_ , my point was, my point was, was something about how it’s late and you shouldn’t be working, you work too hard, seeing you here buried under all these files - it’s a damn waste Polly that’s what it is, a damn waste and surely you can’t begrudge me the idea that perhaps seeing as you’re stuck out here for the next million years you might not take too unkindly to someone attempting to make those years pass a smidgeon quicker through humorous conversation and ingenious plans. But evidently that didn’t quite work out the way I had planned and somewhere along the way some wires might have got a little crossed.”

Mall sighed. Polly blinked slowly. The hour was too late to even be early and she had understood exactly none of that. However, the cold striking up from the stone flags indicated that this was really happening; the vibrating abomination in the doorway not merely a horrible remnant of some dream.

“So anyway,” Mal continued, no indication of any possibility that she might run out of bright inconsequential chatter anytime soon. “I was talking it over with the boys and we decided that someone had been an unmitigated ass and that person was probably me and I should perhaps come and apologise and stop this silly infantile behaviour. But then there were little cups of this amazing coffee flavoured stuff (you should try it, it’s a taste explosion) and so we tried that and Goldhawk discovered that if you mixed it with espresso it made the little pink elephants turn blue and we had to leave Finchley behind cos he was in in-depth conversation with the statue outside the town hall…”

 _Corporal Robert (Bob) Finchley never could hold his drink, Polly thought sourly. A good lad by all definitions of the word, he’d been posted for being transparently honest and thus unable to overlook the repeated indiscretions of a Major’s son despite pressure from above. For some unknown reason Finchley had decided that Mal was just a gentlemanly rascal with a heart of gold beating somewhere beneath that smart blue jacket._

“…but Sergeant Goldhawk took me for a little walk and explained some things, (you know, he’s very persuasive when he’s got little blue elephants prompting him with the bigger words) and I got to thinking that what with all these crossed wires and everything I may have said some things I didn’t mean and yes you did say that, but perhaps you didn’t mean it either and I never meant it to be annoying and I _can_ stop.”

She paused to take a badly needed breath.

“I’m not totally dependant on having lunch everyday, (it’s not even like vampires eat) and I need you to know I never meant to overstay my welcome. But you make it so hard and then there were the game nights and I thought maybe… but I didn’t mean… I would never do anything like that, not on purpose, I wouldn’t do that to you Pol, I think more of you than that, I would never…”

Her train of thought completely out of sight by now the vampire stared dazedly at the ceiling before dropping her gaze to the half dressed figure in front of her. “ _There were beans_ ” she concluded and stood swaying, her face a mixture of confused incomprehension and hopeful appeal.

“Mal, how much coffee did you drink?”

“I don’t know…”

Mal’s eyes settled on her for a second before returning to the disjointed darting up and down the corridor. The cold was bringing on the shivers and the two forces working in opposition looked liable to tear her frame apart.

“There were beans,” she reiterated as though this might explain everything. “Chocolate coated.”

“Oh Mal.”

The woman was 200 years old. You’d think she’d be mature enough to look after herself by now. Polly toyed for a moment with the idea of shutting the door and crawling back into the warm nest she’d been so rudely dragged from. But then, the vampire did look chilled to the bone. She’d waited too long in her deliberations and in the midst of her shivering a question not yet answered to her satisfaction cropped up again in Mal’s pin-wheeling thoughts.

“Why _are_ you here Polly?”

“I told you, this is my office.”

“But it’s night time. At least I think it’s night time.” She frowned, puzzling out the conundrum of a rotating sun and spinning disc. “It was dark outside when they threw us out of Fouquet's. You shouldn’t be working at night, Polly, you should take time off. You need to get your beauty sleep; you won't be pretty for your files if you don't get your full eight hours.”

Polly held up hand to stop the flow.

“You are absolutely correct; I shouldn’t be up at this time of night. However, unfortunately I am occasionally woken from deep refreshing slumber by vampires who don’t know when to say no to chocolate coated espresso beans.”

Mal swayed gently, the look of confusion had pitched its tent on her countenance and was now getting out the swing-ball set. Apparently Polly’s presence was still unexplained.

“I sleep here. I have a cot that folds up.” She looked down, embarrassed. “I didn’t want to make a fuss about accommodation, ok?”

This was not when she wanted to have this conversation. Before her, Mal continued to twitch quietly, but in a listening manner, if it was possible to twitch so.

“Mal, much as I am enjoying this conversation,” ( _and that was no lie, after weeks of chilly silence it was heaven itself to have her blathering nonsense again, for all the cold striking up through the flags_ ) “it’s the middle of the night and I - being human - need to sleep sometime.”

The twitch reformed itself around pleading eyes and she gave in. She couldn’t really leave the shivering vampire out in the cold could she? Sighing, she stepped back to allow her entry.

“You can come in. But no chattering,” she warned sternly. “Pacing I can ignore, but that chattering is almost certain to bring on a headache.”

Sliding back into the warm mound of blankets she curled up, determinedly ignoring the fact that there was a vampire not completely under control in her office. Drowsily she conceded that the light footfalls passing up and down were actually restful but fell into a deep sleep before she could examine why this was.

When she awoke it was still dark and Mal was sat on the floor, her back resting against the cot. At some point the vampire had obviously come to the end of her caffeine high and crashed out where she stood. Her shivering was causing the cot to shake.

“Mal?”

The whisper drifted out into the darkness and was answered by silence. Eventually against the gloom Polly saw those tense shoulders lift on a deep intake of breath.

“About the _thralling_ thing.”

It was a version of the vampire Polly hadn’t seen before, her head drooping between slumped shoulders, tired gaze watching thin hands clasping and re-clasping over and over in her lap.

“I guess I wanted one thing to be true. Just one thing.” The low voice went on, tinged with sadness. “Out of the all the _lies_ , the religious madness, the masquerade and the _stupid_ false patriotism, I just wanted one thing to be real.”

“It was real.” Poll slipped an arm out into the cold to place a hand reassuringly on the now trembling shoulders. “I promise you Mal, whatever this is, this stupid version of friendship whether built out of a desperate need for companionship at the butt end of the world or just because everyone needs a sarcastic vampire disrupting their life and you’re mine, it’s as real as the cracks in my boots that you appear to be unable to ignore.”

Mal sighed but said nothing further, her pose still scoring highly in “dejected vampire of the year” competitions. But after a moment Polly could feel the added resistance against her fingers as the woman leant back just a little into the hand gently kneading tight knots out of her neck.

“Are you planning to sit there all night?” With a wee touch of pragmatism they might get out of this without too much embarrassment to either party. “Cold stone isn’t going to do anything pleasant to that part of you our good friend Corporal Finchley persists in referring to as ‘ _the buns of steel’_.”

There was no response. But after minute or two Mal shuffled up to perch on the edge of the bed. Polly rolled slightly to keep her in sight.

“Are you going back to yours?”

A shared yawn shook the fragile cot and when Polly blinked her eyes back into focus again she saw the vampire hovering at the end of the bed, awkward in the gloom. Shivers continued to wrack the narrow frame and Polly compared the outer chill striking at her nose to the warmth wrapped around the rest of her snuggled within the nest of blankets. She shifted over, implicitly giving permission but Mal still held back.

“As a friend Mal, I am offering you a warm place to sleep, unthralled and in full control of my faculties, albeit a little sleepy.”

“We’ve done it before,“ she added, her mind jumping back to that confusing time when they were all pretending to be someone else and she had first learnt how much she detested coffee. “You need to decide if you trust me.”

Mal lifted her eyes at last from their scrutiny of the rough blanket her fingers were cautiously picking at. Polly held her gaze without comment and it was Mal who eventually shrugged and broke the contact as she bent down to remove her treasured boots. Shifting around to enable both to fit on the narrow cot they ended up with Polly pressed against the back wall and Mal perched as gracefully as possible on the thin sliver of hard mattress remaining, unable to move without toppling over the edge. Settling down as best she could Polly wondered if perhaps this had been the best option of the evening, imagining Mal might lie awake, tense beside her. But obviously the beans had more than worn off and Mal’s breathing quickly deepened and lengthened until without any appearance of effort she was asleep.

Polly found it more difficult to drop off. She wasn’t used to sharing a bed, Nuggan law didn’t permit brothers and sisters to occupy the same sleeping space after their 8th birthday and with no sisters to warm her cot she’d got used to sleeping somewhat spread-eagled. Now she kept bumping up against bony outcroppings as she attempted to find a comfortable spot whilst retaining at least a smidgeon of space between her front and the back of the woman now quietly snoring beside her. Eventually however she managed to drop into uneasy slumber waking now and then as body parts came into close alignment.

She must have dipped into a deeper state of unconsciousness sometime toward the morning as when she did wake to full alertness she found she had thrown an arm over the waist in front of her and her nose was somehow snuggled into a the hollow where a neck meets a shoulder, with soft dark hair drifting into her eyes as she blinked them in confusion. Last night’s bony outcroppings didn’t seem as prominent in this position and as she relaxed back against her new hot water bottle she decided this must be the reason she had adopted it. Mal sighed and shifted slightly in her sleep to fit them together more comfortably.

It was at this point that the more sensible parts of Polly’s brain woke up, took a swift look around, had a short but succinct screaming fit and galvanised whatever limbs they could establish communication with. Never had any sergeant scrambled so quickly out of a cot. There may even have been flailing.

Standing shivering on the cold flags Polly watched as Mal rolled over, stretching out into the space she had just left. Muttering incomprehensibly the vampire felt around for a moment and then gathered the pillow into a warm embrace. Apparently satisfied by this replacement Mal sighed deeply and seemed to drop back into the depths of slumber.

Polly found that it was simply too early to process any of this and catching a glimpse of the clock over the mantelpiece thanked her lucky stars that the army was all about routine. Though she might chafe against the boring regularity of army life there were times it could be a beautiful rescue. Routine stated that now it was the time that she made her way across the castle to get breakfast before those louts from Company D (who were on night watch this week) came down and snaffled it all. Therefore to breakfast she would go. Pulling on chilled breeches and shrugging into a still rumpled shirt she tried not to notice that her gaze seemed unwilling to approach anywhere near the figure snoozing quietly on the cot that took up half the office. Buttoning up her jacket may have been made more difficult by fingers that still shook from an emotion as yet unrecognisable but the only thing on her mind was breakfast.

Definitely breakfast. Just because she took a last glimpse through the door before she silently drew it closed didn’t mean she was in any way thinking of the strange conundrum she’d left in her bed. She wondered if there’d be eggs.

The canteen was almost empty at this hour, the main population of the castle still either struggling to leave the warmth of their cots or impatiently awaiting the end of their duty shifts so they could get back to them. The walk through long empty corridors had helped her clear her head somewhat. It was perfectly normal after all, all animals huddle together for warmth against unseasonal conditions. Why, when Mister[1] had had her litter[2] in the Inn’s outhouses the kittens had slept all muddled up together in a heap, sometimes even on top of each other. Her thoughts skittered away from that image as not helpful at all and she was glad to see the distracting figure of one of those responsible for her current situation.

Unsurprisingly after his date with the town statue Corporal Bob Finchley was nowhere to be seen but allowed herself a private grin as she spotted Goldhawk slumped over his plate sipping delicately from a large steaming mug of tea. She dropped into the seat next to him and deposited her utensils onto the table with a loud clatter causing him to jump and swivel a baleful eye in her general direction. Ignoring him, she dug a spoon into the kitchen’s attempt on porridge and shovelled it on in. Goldhawk was therefore left to open the conversation with a “good morning” which she also ignored. He persevered.

“Did the Corporal get to sleep eventually?”

“No thanks to you.” She pointed a porridge-y spoon in his general direction. “Next time you decide to get Mal to apologise could you please remove the blessed idiot from any chocolate coated espresso beans before the point of no return?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Despite his fragile condition he manipulated an eyebrow to express the valid point that if certain Sergeants kept themselves from large-scale disruptive rows with specific Corporals this state of affairs would not have to occur again anyway. Unfortunately Polly was not at home to Mr Eyebrow today and merely gathered up the remains of her breakfast deciding that a quiet morning in her office was probably the best plan.

Entering the office she found Mal still asleep and skirting the cot carefully she set her tea down on the desk to set about that morning’s paperwork. Time passed, marked only by the quiet scratching of her pen and the sporadic sighs and rustling movements from a vampire dormant. Occasionally, as she placed a finished form in her out tray and reached for another Polly (released from the demands of high finance for a brief second) found her lips twitching into a fond smile. It was at one of these moments that Ganzfield came in and catching the tail end of her expression he swiftly drew his own face into a state of total blankness. She looked up.

“We’ll go over those accounts tomorrow, Corporal, I’d like not to be disturbed today if that’s possible.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

As he closed the door behind him Ganzfield breathed a sigh of relief that a) she hadn’t noticed his almost betrayal and b) his Tuesdays would once again be returned to him and he could finally get his colour coded wall chart rota of absolutely everything finished in peace.

Some time later, deep in the projected accounts for the next quarter Polly reached for one of the reference tomes dotted about the desk and in the process inadvertently knocked a ledger off the untidy surface onto the cot below. Drawing a startled breath she waited for an angry response from the occupant but there was nothing. However, as she stood and reached over the huddled heap of blankets to retrieve her property she saw Mal had managed to drag one eye open. The drowsy gaze drifted over the shins that were all that was presented at vampiric eyelevel.

“Not those boots _again_ , Pol. They pain me. A sergeant should not be out classed in her footwear by a lowly corporal.”

The force of her complaint was reduced somewhat by the yawn that broke in the middle.

“Go back to sleep Mal.”

Ledger safely returned to the desk Polly bent over the cot again to pull the blanket more securely over its occupant.

“I’ll bring you up some coffee later, but now I want you to sleep, ok?”

“Mmm, ok” and she snuggled back into the pillow closing her eyes once more.

Polly made a note for the future about the compliance of vampires when half awake and returned to her paperwork with a smile.

Mal didn’t wake till the afternoon, just as Polly was brushing the last crumbs from her blue jacket. Goldhawk had sent Finchley with some lunch and an apology, Polly waving him away with a jerk of the head towards the mound of blankets. Seeing the vampire start to stir she’d grabbed a pen and when Mal sniffed, stretched luxuriously and opened her eyes it was to see Polly hard at work.

“Good Morning.”

“I think you’ll find it’s good afternoon instead.” Polly put down her pen, leaning back in her chair to get a better view. “How are we feeling today? Little bit less hyperactive?”

“I need a coffee.”

“I’m sure you don’t, but maybe you’d best have one anyway.” She jerked her head towards the implements laid out on the hearthstone. “Your stuff is over there.”

Climbing from the pit of blankets Mal sat for a moment on the edge of the cot, running fingers through her hair. It astounded Polly, though she refused to show it, that when the woman eventually stood up she was pristine again, no sign that she’d slept rough to be seen anywhere the creases of her clothes. Blasted vampires. As her pen moved across the ledger in front of her Polly watched the delicate process of making coffee as Mal crouched in before the small fire she’d had Ganzfield lay in her grate. The familiar hissing of the coffee machine filled the silence Polly felt no need to break. Sitting back on her heels as she sipped Mal didn’t look up to meet her eyes, then remembering some prior engagement she made her polite excuses and rose to leave. She paused on the way to the door however, standing quiet before Polly’s desk so that the sergeant was forced to look up.

“Are we good?”

“We’re good.”

Polly flashed her a smile before bending her head once again to the ledger.

But once the door had closed quietly behind her visitor she put down her pen and the smile broke out again over her whole face as she sniffed with pleasure the scent of coffee once again lingering around her room.

~X~

[1] Don’t ask.

[2] Didn’t we just request you not to ask? Look, just take it from us and never allow a child under the age of 10 to name anything that could be one of two genders.[3]

[3] What is it with what we are swiftly coming to think is an unhealthy spirit of enquiry? Ok, OK. So maybe I should have checked the sex of the rabbit first. But I don’t see why this all has to be my fault![4]

[4] I’m not being defensive! It wasn’t my mother that suggested we get another one for company![5]  
[5] Oh, and I suppose it’s my fault that your daughter is crying in her room now? Tell me, how else do you plan to get rid of them?[6]  
[6] Well personally I don’t think it’s that much of a tragedy that Mrs Simpson at No. 42 isn’t speaking to us anymore [7] [8] [9]. I never liked that woman anyway.  
[7] Or that rabble at No. 37.  
[8] Or the Henderson’s. Yes I know they supposedly do the BBQ of the summer, but last year the chicken wasn’t cooked and I got a very black sausage so pardon me if I don’t think it’s then end of the world if they never invite us again.  
[9] As to her over the back – it’s about time her kids had some responsibility and I can’t ask everyone who comes asking with a cardboard box if their parents are ok with a new pet can I?[10]  
[10] FINE! I WILL!

~X~

“Polly?” Mal swung a lazy leg as she examined the board laid out between them on the wide windowsill with an assumed air of concern.

“Hmm?”

Despite her best efforts, Sergeant Polly Perks, victor over a multitude of enemies with at least two armies on record as ground beneath her heel, was losing. Again. As yet she couldn’t quite see this situation had come about. _How **had** Mal managed to avoid her cleverly constructed pincer attack and yet still contrived to wriggle a piece deep inside Polly’s defences where it was currently laying waste to her much needed reserve troops?_ She sighed, racking her brain to come up with a way to retain at least a smidgeon of her honour. Mal always complained that Polly was too easy to beat, she played by the book and the only times she presented a challenge to the vampire were when she chanced everything on one last insane plan. Admittedly it had only ever succeeded once, but what a glorious day that had been.

 _Not that a win:loss ratio of 1:87 was anything to be proud of,_ she thought soberly reaching out to move one of the more easily lost pieces – her hand pausing at the last second as synapses began to fire. _What if she went left instead of right…?_

The sun through the windowpanes beside them drew hard lines across the back of her hand, the movement through light and shade distracting as she pondered her strategy. Summer was taking its sweet time turning into autumn. Chilly evenings not withstanding, the season had not yet provided any evidence of its desire to progress further. With the welcome rays insinuating their way through her jacket Polly wasn’t going to be the lone voice of complaint about this late burst of sunny afternoons. As Finchley had commented only that morning, if it meant a good harvest and a winter of full bellies instead of scrimping and saving, there was no reason to take it up with the weather gods quite yet.

“Polly?”

The Supply Sergeant gave a distracted wave as one would at a fly buzzing around one’s head.

“Polly!”

“What?”

She gave up on any chance of rescuing her light cavalry before the imminent attack swept them away and settled back against the warm stone with a sigh.

“Have you still got your sword?”

Mal had woken that morning with the certainty that it was time for _Part II_ of the long and as yet not fully thrashed out _“Cheer Up Perks”_ plan that had been occupying her thoughts since arriving at the border. Admittedly the process of planning was restricted to those parts of her mind that were not taken up with vital pursuit of thrashing the lower ranks at cards, generally causing mischief and the ever tantalising hunt for the perfectly brewed cup of coffee. Bearing all this in mind it is of course understandable that she had taken longer than anticipated to get to this point.

Surprisingly _Part I_ had come about without any interference from the vampire. Before Mal could put into place any of her _“distractionary tactics”_ Polly had seen the benefits of fully utilising the wonderful Ganzfield. Without too much prompting she was now spending only the mandatory amount of time at her paperwork. This in turn had freed her up to be dragged, often unwillingly, into the shenanigans of the motley crew Mal had gathered about her from the odd assortment available in the Border Fort. The blessed day that Polly had chased Mal down seven corridors and up four flights of stairs with an iron saucepan had inspired Mal to declare _Part I_ an unmitigated success. But the vampire was not one to rest on her laurels. It was time to instigate _Part II_.

Luckily she’d remembered that Polly had always needed a good dose of violence in her day to be truly happy and now, swallowing a secret chuckle, Mal waited to see her plan unfold in all its delicious glory.

“My sword?” Polly, wary after a number of incautious responses to Mal’s simple questions ran the list of possible answers through her mind before settling on: “You can’t have it.”

“Oh, I don’t want it.” Mal produced the most reassuring smile of her repertoire, taking out three of Polly’s squads with a single move. “ _But_ , as I was wandering past the exercise yard this morning I heard the drill sergeant addressing the new set of lads. Apparently _it is our bounden duty as conscripts of this ‘ere army to keep ourselves battle-‘ardened at all times_.”

Mal’s impression of the rough accented drill instructor was uncanny. Polly however, remained unmoved.

“I understand your boredom Mal, really I do.” She brought up the rearguard she’d been keeping in hand for a counter attack. “Since your co-conspirators went out on Patrol you’ve been kicking your heels around the castle and I sympathise, I really do. But why me Mal? Why do I always have to fill the gap?”

Mal opened her mouth, but her pre-prepared answer was denied mid vocalisation.

“You’ll have to find some other way to cause chaos. I’m not letting you loose with my sword. And that’s final.” Sergeant Perks folded her arms firmly, slumping back against the wall behind her.

Admittedly part of her frustration may have been due to the loss of her beautiful swooping counterattack before it even got out of the blocks - but still. _You couldn’t have a bored vampire running around a populated castle with a lethal weapon_. She frowned suddenly at the intrinsic wrongness of that sentence. Attention split between the board and the annoyance opposite, Polly made a fatal mistake. If she’d had only left the conversation there Mal might have forgotten all about it (unlikely – but always a possibility). Unfortunately she was ambushed by her unhealthy sense of curiosity and asked:

“Where’s yours anyway?”

“I left it somewhere.”

Looking down Mal saw that the lazily swinging leg had halted in its metronomic movement and covered up the stutter by bringing the boot up onto the window-ledge as though to examine a small blemish in the leather. _She didn’t want to remember that dusty day. Let the sword lie where it had fallen, it had good company on that battlefield_.

Polly was confused. Mal didn’t have nuances in her speech; anyone would tell you that. _And yet…_ She didn’t know whether it was just because she was spending more time in Mal’s company but as the weeks passed she’d come to notice small things that didn’t fit, the occasional nonchalant pose that wasn’t all that nonchalant, the witty jest that turned the conversation on a sixpence, sending it in a new direction without anyone (except perhaps Goldhawk who appeared to see everything) any the wiser. Few and far between these moments may be, but they were not figments of her imagination. So far Polly’s only response had been to fall back on pragmatism, a technique she reached for now.

“If you’re serious about wanting to do some training I hear they keep spares and wooden practice blades down in the guard’s store somewhere.”

“Want to come exploring?”

Mal had lowered her boot to the stone flags, half turned away as she asked the question and Polly frowned at the blankness of her tone. Whatever Mal’s intention had been when she broached the subject, Polly’s questioning as to the whereabouts of her official army sword had obviously driven it from her mind. _And that was unfair_ , Polly thought. She didn’t mind the contortions she was put through to avoid Mal’s wilder suggestions, the arguments, the whining and pleading, the constant need to have a brace of excuses ready and waiting. But this winning as it were by default left a nasty taste in her mouth. Glancing down at the board between them, she realised with utter finality that there was no chance she could win and shrugged.

“Why not?”

Mal, head swinging round at the change in Polly’s tone caught the sparkles beginning to dance in those pale blue eyes. Unconsciously the hard line of her mouth relaxed into the hint of a grin as those insidious sparkles struck up an answering glint in her own darker gaze.

 _“Why not indeed?”_

~X~

It took Mal less than a minute to break into the store, Polly keeping a discrete eye out for interruptions, a post she’d found herself in more and more often recently. Once inside Mal embarrassingly displayed the distressing vampiric tendency to magpieism, flitting from shiny object to shiny object, her fingers dancing along this weapon before fluttering to that with increasing excitement. Leaving behind the half suppressed squeals of joy Polly drifted over to a rack of practice blades. Testing each in turn she found the one that when hefted rewarded her with perfect balance and brought delight to her swordswoman’s heart.

When Mal was eventually able to haul her baser instincts back under control she found Polly in another world, moving gracefully through a series of attacking moves, the memory returning to muscles long unused. There was something of the dancer in her movements, dust motes swirling around head as she pivoted and thrust, lost in the concentration needed to keep the blade swinging freely from one stance to the next. The deadliness of purpose couldn’t detract from the beauty and Mal felt the minutes slip past as she watched.

Eventually the increasing rate of a thudding heartbeat broke the spell and conscious that she’d been staring Mal checked her impassive eyebrow was in place before breaking into slow applause.

“Nicely done Polly. Has our Supply Sergeant been secretly practising in the deepest depths of the file store?”

“Clogston made me learn in Ankh Morpork.” Polly halted panting, running a finger down the blade as the sparkle of sunlight caught here and there along the burnished metal glinted in the gloom of the store. “Apparently relieving one’s tension on the practice ground is a good technique for getting rid of frustrations.” She picked up the buckler lying beside the rack of swords and adjusted her grip as she endeavoured to remember the technique for moving the two together.

“From the looks of it, one might conclude you were pretty damn frustrated down there.” Mal sidestepped a swing that she decided Polly couldn’t possibly have meant. It was probably just part of the routine the Sergeant was working through.

As the sword flashed from attack to defence and back again, Mal suddenly realised what had been bothering her.

“Didn't you once have two?”

Now she thought back, Mal could definitely recall an image of Polly as she stood on that ferry, her feet braced against the rocking of the river with a pair of hilts strapped crosswise over her shoulders. There had been a wicked grin inviting her aboard, promising all kinds of fun and adventures. Mal had taken the invitation, had believed in the promise. And had been left with the reality.

“When you first came back, before Ankh Morpork.” ( _'Before you went away again'_ , Mal wanted to add but didn't.) “You had two swords, cutlasses to be exact. ' _A present from Jackrum_ ', you said.”

A small frown crept down between Polly's brows as she tried again and again to complete the defensive drill for blocking what looked like an attacker with a pike or some other kind of long weapon. As her sword swung through the same patterns to the same futile end, the gracefully assertive stance that Mal had so admired started to droop. Silently the chill gloom of the room slunk back in around them. Mal was regretting asking now, the old familiar grey had crept back into Polly's eyes and tired lines were once again tightening up that young face.

“I gave them away.”

Polly's sword was moving faster now, her parries increasingly jerky as acid tendrils of her frustration began to wind their tight bands around her muscles. Mal waited, patiently.

“We were there for Diplomacy, Mal.”

The words stumbled out of Polly in short bursts, torn free with each thrust, each frustrated slash of her blade that met empty air in place of the opponents she burned to destroy.

“A soldier carrying two swords is too aggressive, too confrontational.”

Polly's breath was coming in short gasps now, drops of sweat rolling down her forehead which she brushed away with the inside of the wrist that was slotted into the shield braces. But her sword arm never stopped.

“We needed to negotiate, to talk, to make compromises. We had to be approachable, reasonable even. A woman carrying two swords is not _reasonable_.”

The sword hissed past Mal's face at high speed and then finally came to rest, the indecently sharp point lying peacefully on the floorboards between them.

“So I gave them away.”

The silence was broken only by noise of Polly attempting to catch her breath in as dignified a manner as possible and so, despite her unwillingness to interrupt the flow, Mal was forced to put the question.

“Who to?”

She tried to be as gentle as possible but saw thin lips compress into an ever tightening line. A list of familiar names flashed across Mal's mind, but each one was swiftly rejected (Tonker didn't really need any more edged weaponry). In the end she was left with one startling image.

“Alice? You gave them to _Alice_?”

There was a pause and then Polly nodded tiredly. Mal just stood there, stunned, the image of Wazzer struggling under the weight of Jackrum's massive cutlasses spinning crazily in her mind. But then the picture shifted and in a shot of clarity she saw, not through the eyes of the rest of the world, but as only a member of that long ago rag-tag band of abominations (who did the impossible and yet were still not viewed as mighty) could see. When you looked at what Polly had done in the light of everything that had been done and said in the keep that day (including the bits Mal may have been in a caffeine coma for but had heard about afterwards from Jade), the rightness of it became beautifully obvious.

Stepping forward Mal placed both hands over the hilt of the sword, encircling Polly's desperately tight grip.

“It was well done.”

Polly's eyes seemed immovably glued to the floorboards.

“It was, Polly. She deserved it, of all of us. Jackrum would have understood that.”

Polly still didn't look up, not even when Mal (against her better judgement) reached out and tucked an escaping strand of hair back behind her ear. But her grip loosened on the hilt of the sword, just a little.

Mal, concluding that now would probably be the time to move away from the uncertain land of emotional turmoil took a couple of steps back and struck out for the firmer ground of violence and childish insults.

“So, Clogston gave you some hints on your “swordplay”, eh? I always thought she took somewhat of a shine to you.”

Her comment was ignored as Polly, released from her grasp, was already striding away from her towards the door they’d left open behind them. Grabbing up the nearest sword to hand, Mal hurried after, calling for her sergeant to stop showing off and share some of this wonderful knowledge the delightful Major Clogston had deigned to pass on.

“ _For the good of the Regiment if nothing else!_ ”, she cried.

It had seemed so simple when Polly did it, moving with little excessive movement from position to position. Moving about the bare practice ground Mal attempted to imitate the actions she had observed and was surprised to hear Polly’s stifled laughter at her efforts. Apparently, much to her chagrin this was something vampires were not born intrinsically able to do. Polly stepped forward to demonstrate and Mal copied as closely as she was able. As with everything a vampire ever put its mind to it was a most stylish effort. It was however not quite correct.

Struggling to direct suddenly disobedient feet and hands she tripped over her sword (most stylishly) and only by a great windmilling effort (a most stylish windmill naturally) managed to avoid introducing her face to the rough grass of the exercise yard. The goat that the drill sergeant kept to nibble the grass short looked down its nose at her derisively.

By the time Polly had stopped laughing; leaning against a nearby wall for support as she regained her breath Mal had cursed all blacksmiths to the 4th generation and was beginning in on dwarves and their occult wiles. She had also decided that plan or not, there was no need for any vampire with access to teeth and claws to ever learn this outmoded skill. But that was before Polly pushed herself off the wall, slid up behind her with utter confidence and placing a hand over hers on the hilt began to guide her through the movements, using the pressure of their bodies together to get her weight to move in the right direction.

“Pay attention Corporal.”

The voice was a mere murmur in her ear and Mal wondered vaguely what exactly she was meant to be paying attention to? The light touch of Polly’s hand over hers? The strong arm about her waist turning her this way and that as they moved across the square in step? Through her daze she heard the firmly counted paces, Polly’s focus completely on the best way to guide her pupil, enjoying this opportunity to pass on knowledge, to open up new horizons for an old friend. She fought to get a grip on her reactions. Polly’s behaviour sprouted from pure innocence and Mal would not sully that just because it had been years since anyone had dared to invade her personal space so thoroughly.

Polly finally released her at the other side of the square and indicated the vampire should display what she had learnt. Mal failed of course. But the second demonstration was easier, no longer did her nerve endings scream quite so loudly about the warm heartbeat pressing against her back, and she could, albeit with the smallest corner of her brain take in something of the muscle co-ordination needed to create the flowing linked movements Polly did so easily.

The afternoon whirled away around them. Mal, once she had got the idea, began to link the strokes together, Polly only needing to step in from time to time to adjust her stance or direct her blade in a more efficient sweep or parry. Disturbed at last by clamour of the evening training group coming down to go through their more prosaic discipline the pair straightened up, feeling the tug of effort in muscles long unused. Hurrying to put away the swords before being noticed they slipped away unseen, not yet willing to explain themselves.

Walking across the wide lower hall Mal stretched tired muscles unable to swallow the small groan as a knotted bicep clamoured for attention. A snigger drifted up from the figure trailing beside her, but was interrupted by a yawn. _Let the girl laugh. Once Mal’s famed vampiric healing powers got their act into gear they’d see who was laughing. Of course, having been confined to uneventful locales for the past months her skills were a little rusty. But soon, any minute now, they’d kick into glorious action and this residual ache across her shoulders would vanish into the air. Any minute now._

Polly halted wearily at the foot of the stairs, assessing the obstacle for potential miracles. Still struggling to find the switch in her physiology that would take all this galling human frailty away, Mal understood completely. Somewhere at the top of that flight was a comfortable chair and a bag of coffee beans. She wondered if it was worth it. The steps looked very comfortable. What would be the harm in them sitting down for a minute, just to gather their reserves?

“If we stop here, we’ll never get going again.” Polly winced as she lifted a foot to the first step and paused, preparing herself. “It’s only a few stairs. A short uphill stroll. We’re Border Boys remember, scrambling up mountains is a walk in the park to us.”

“I’ve seen flatter mountains.” Mal grimaced as she reached back for her sergeant and together they began to ascend.

It was some time later when the door to the office opened and two figures limped painfully over the threshold. Relaxing into her usual spot by the hearth Mal stretched out her legs on the rug as she watched Polly lower herself gingerly into the armchair that had somehow found its way into the Supply Clerk’s domain. A bag of coffee beans lay out of sight in the top drawer of the desk. Mal could smell it. Delicious, aromatic, essential coffee. She should get up, make her way around the desk, find the beans, dig out the grinder, fetch some water and brew herself a cup. She would. In a minute.

The quiet stretched on. Mal finally felt the trickle of renewal spreading out through her heavy muscles and stretched luxuriously, rejoicing in the return of responsive power. Sensing her change in mood Polly shifted in her chair, drawing up her legs up to rub at tired calf muscles. Bending a sympathetic gaze upward the corporal found herself on the receiving end on a rather mischievous smile.

“Same time tomorrow?”

~X~

“How many times, Mal?!” Polly stepped back from the onslaught, lowering the tip of her blade to the ground. “Do you listen to a single word I tell you? You were slashing again; you’ve simply _got_ to slow down. A swordsman works with efficiency of movement, we use the drills to guide the blade from one blow to another, from a parry to a death strike.”

Mal wasn’t precisely sulking, but it could not be said that the vampire was currently displaying anything like a receptive pose.

“Battles go on for a long time.” Polly caught a glint of something behind that polite mask as some remembered knowledge flashed into life and then was gone. “Even _you_ might get tired, especially with the heavy shield to manoeuvre as well.”

“I don’t like the shield.” Mal hadn’t meant that to sound as petulant as it did. “It’s clunky.”

“It’s _meant_ to be unwieldy; it has to be large enough to _protect_ you!”

“Immortal.” Mal shrugged dismissively. “And equipped with those speedy reflexes that allow one to dodge.”

“Oh, I give up.”

Polly fought down on the urge to fling the sword at her opponent’s head and instead placed it with controlled calm onto a nearby block where their discarded jackets lay. Turning away she set to adjusting the strapping on her hands, a ruse she had had to revert to many times in the times she gave over to teaching Mal the intricacies of sword play.

“Now this, _this_ is better.”

Polly spun round. Unnoticed behind her Mal had picked up the second sword and with one in each hand was swishing at the air experimentally. The glimpse of canine in a face of intense concentration added rather than detracted from the impression of murderous efficiency. As Polly herself had said, a woman wielding two swords does not bring the word “reasonable” to mind. But somewhat disconcertingly, fear was not the first thing that came to Polly’s mind as her eyes wandered over that slim boyish figure.

“You’ll want different drills for a two handed attack.”

They both spun to face the interruption, seeing a thin diffident officer emerging from the gateway that linked the exercise yard with the rest of the rough ground encircled by the castle’s protecting walls.

“Excuse us, sir?” Polly had noticed the bar on his sleeve and jumped in before Mal could express the enquiry in more forceful terms.

“I apologise for my inadvertent observation of your private training session.”

He approached them steadily in the face of silent opposition and having reduced the distance to something approaching politeness bowed his head for a moment as he introduced himself.

“Sub-Lieutenant Latimer, at your service.”

They saluted awkwardly, conscious of their shirt sleeves and general air of disarray.

“Sergeant Perks.”

Polly nudged Mal and reminded of her manners the vampire added her identity.

“I find myself loath to interrupt any instance of sword practice amongst the midden dwellers that inhabit this isolated rock, but if the Corporal intends not to use the shield in battle he may indeed find the use of two swords more efficient as a fighting style. You will of course need to work up the drills first. They are somewhat different to those you have been practising”

They gazed at him open mouthed.

“Plus I believe it would aid you, Sergeant, to face competition of this complexity. You still show some amateur errors in your defensive stance and could use some extra work on your elbow stiffness when disengaging.”

Polly ignored the stifled snickering from her left.

“You’ve been watching us?”

He quickly denied any such impolite behaviour. Apparently, having just returned to the fort from leading the latest High Patrol, he’d been simply wandering the grounds. The sounds of battle had drawn him to their little corner and overhearing the corporal’s interest in a two handed fighting method he’d overcome his scruples to interrupt.

“If you should like, I could offer some advice in this area. I have some knowledge of the techniques.”

In the dimming light Polly couldn’t make out if that was a faint blush staining the thin cheeks.

“We would hate to take up any of your time, sir.”

Polly had jumped to get in before Mal could deliver one of her crushing snubs but the corporal’s mind was on other things.

“Excuse me, sir, but did you say the patrol was back in?”

“Yes?”

He frowned in confusion as the vampire jiggled on the spot before him.

“Permission to leave, sir?”

“Granted Corporal. Don’t let me detain you.”

As Mal sketched a half salute and turned to gather her belongings, Polly caught a glimpse of disappointment behind the tightly held expression. She resisted the urge to bolt after Mal, turning instead to the hovering officer.

“You were right sir; I've only really looked over the drills in books, I'd have no idea how to teach anyone to wield two swords. Did you mean what you said? About teaching us a double bladed attacking style?” It was cheek to be sure, but the man _had_ offered. “If you can spare the time we would be more than grateful.”

The sub-lieutenant employed a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Don’t pay any attention to Mal, sir. I’ll talk him into it. It’s just that the patrol is back in you see, and the corporal is eager to catch up with some old friends. We’d both really appreciate it if you could give us some pointers.”

For a second she thought he wouldn’t believe her, thinking she was perhaps pulling his leg, but he shrugged and came to a decision.

“I’m busy tomorrow. But the day after, should anyone turn up, we could at least try.”

Grateful as she was, Polly’s internal clock had been counting up the passing minutes since Mal had vanished and the total was becoming worryingly large. Fidgeting in her turn she threw the Sub-Lieutenant a textbook salute and he allowed a small smile to escape his dignified control.

“Dismissed Sergeant.”

“Thank you sir. It was nice to meet you sir. Goodbye sir.”

She hurried off in the direction that the vampire had vanished in.

~X~

“So he wanders over, bold as brass and starts taking the Sergeant here to task for poor swordsmanship.”

Polly protested at the vampire’s version of events but it was all in vain. Mal had sat politely through the polyphonic storytelling of the returned patrol members as to various exciting events that had come to pass up on the mountain. Now, having grabbed control of the conversation it was her turn to speak and no-one, of higher rank or not, was going to take it away from her. She’d rattled through the many daring exploits masterminded by her in the absence of her associates, scandalously exaggerated of course, and received the scoffing cries as her due. Now, gathering the cards that Barnett dealt skilfully around the crowded table Mal expanded further on the mystery that was Sub Lieutenant Latimer.

“How did a master swordsman end up out here anyway? You’d think the old buffers at central administration would hold on to someone with skills like that.”

An agreeing mumble swept round the table followed by a thoughtful silence as each player examined his ( _or her_ ) cards and decided whether they were worth the copper needed to stay in the game ( _Polly had been allowed to play, as it was a special occasion_ ).

“There are all kinds of reasons as to why a man might find himself encouraged to bolster the ranks of the Border Blues.” Goldhawk flicked his coin into the pot and as he was the last in the circle the game proper began.

“Musta been a pretty solid reason to get an Assassin out here.” Kettering, his cards a total bust, did his best to instigate to a distraction as he began to bluff heavily.

“Naturally, those of us left over from the old guard were somewhat persona non grata when the new colonel was rebuilding his staff.”

“Naturally.” Mal hid the smile behind her cards, sorting her hand carefully.

“So what did you do?” Finchley, his open face alight with curiosity leant in over his small pile of chips.

“I volunteered.” The assassin shrugged at their disbelief. “It was either that or spend every waking hour checking over my shoulder for the incompetent goons the new chief of security would keep sending my way. The man was simply unable to take a hint. In the end I got tired of kicking my heels around headquarters with nothing to do and managed to dig out a sensible Major who was willing to negotiate. In return for my generous offer to remove myself from political circles they agreed to stop sending people after me. It seemed fair enough, a man tires of checking his boots for scorpions every morning.

They laughed and drank a toast to scorpions and conversation dissipated as the game became more involved. However, after the hand was played out - falling to Finchley for once with Polly’s bluff failing miserably, the topic cropped up once again.

“Bob we know. A good lad was he, and will ever be.” As the rattling of mugs against the table in mocking applause faded away Barnett leant forward and asked directly across the table. “What about you, Mal? Why’d they send your scrawny arse out here to plague us?”

“Nothing much.”

Under the table Polly felt the muscles bunch in the thigh that had until that moment been resting in quiet relaxation against her own as they all sat squashed around the small table. Polly nudged back against that tension and under cover of the general protest Mal pulled her mug toward her, staring into the depths as though she could find the story swirling somewhere in the liquid. Eventually she raised her head, looked around the table with that familiar self deprecating eyebrow and began to speak.

“Once upon a time, a very long time ago…”

The vampire ducked as the walnut shell winged its way past her, landing on the floor in the corner.

“Ok, Ok.” Mal shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “It was somewhat of a long list that the very ugly clerk read out at the last court-martial but from what I recall through the mists of time it began with Persistent Insubordination and continued on through Disobeying a Direct Order, Disobeying a Direct Order on a Battle Field, Mutiny, Incitement to Mutiny and Striking a Superior Officer… _Twice._ ”

A chain of respectful nods travelled round the table. Polly, still in the dark, glanced across at Goldhawk for clarification but didn’t get any.

“How many did he get?”

It was Barnett who broke the silence again. A good enough soldier, if prone to questioning any order he couldn’t see the full reasoning behind. It had got him into trouble when he’d refused to re-direct his patrol along a different route and lost every man, a mistake he had had to learn to live with. The kick that almost shattered Polly’s shin shut her mouth with a snap before she could ask _“How many who?”_

“Half the regiment.” Mal spoke quietly, unable to lift her gaze as she drew in a deep breath and continued, “I was too far away.”

Polly felt the icy understanding blow chill across her brain, only to easily able to imagine the impotent fury that must have ignited in that moment.

“Apparently racing across a battlefield to countermand the orders of one’s Lieutenant to his face and call him a bloody incompetent into the bargain is not the way to improve one’s career path in the Army. Who knew?”

What guilt was running through the tense figure next to her? Mal wasn’t trembling it was true, but Polly could be certain that was only because Mal’s muscles were under the vampire’s most tightly grasped control.

“You saved half though.” It was Goldhawk who passed judgement. “Half is better than none.”

Hidden under the table, Polly felt some of the tension bleed out of the thigh pressed so tightly against hers. Above the wooden barrier Mal continued to distractedly stack her chips in neat piles.

“Where did you hit him?”

That was Finchley, rising as he spoke to refill his mug from the pot warming on the stove.

“Broke his nose and cheekbone.” Mal drank the last of her mug, holding it out in wordless plea. “It was one hell of a punch.”

As Finchley passed around the table making sure everyone had a full mug to nurse, she settled back into her chair ever willing to relate the tale of a dust up.

“He cried like a baby, blood, tears and snot running down onto his lovely trim jacket with the shiny buttons. The second time was at the trial. I only spat on him then. Ruined his jacket again though, which I think upset him more.”

She grinned at them before burying her nose into the mulled wine.

“And they sent you out here?” Finchley settled back into his seat, gathering the cards together for the next deal.

“Eventually. There were a number of minor postings, but finally HQ must have written to my Commanding Officer letting him know that they’d found the perfect blend of characters for a Cripple Mr Onion tournament because they sent me out here pronto.”

“Damn shame for us.” Kettering muttered somewhat sourly into his drink, comparing the pile of coins heaped high on the table in front of Mal to the small collection scattered under his hand.

 _Lucky for me_ , thought Polly in the silence that followed. Beside her Mal shuffled her cards and sorted them into order before looking up wickedly.

“So. What delights shall we endeavour to employ that we may assuage the boredom of our compatriots this week?”

~X~

The eagle screamed somewhere above them and Polly stopped for a moment to catch her breath, foot resting on a handy rock. Squinting up into the pale blue sky she picked out the tiny dot wheeling high overhead and unbidden her lips relaxed into a smile. Hitching her pack higher she stretched tired back muscles, feeling her shirt peel clammily away from the hollow of her back as she watched the speck drift away towards the high peaks.

“Regretting you came?”

Distracted by the view Polly hadn’t noticed Mal slip quietly alongside her but now drew her gaze back from the lofty heights to take stock of her surroundings. Out over the valley opposite the tree filled slopes tumbled down to the town nestling small in a curve of the road far below. Here and there Polly could pick out the track they had spent the morning climbing, wending in and out of view as it crept along the lower slopes, weaving around small walled fields. Ahead they would soon be entering the wooded tangle that reached up out of sight to take up their post as guardian angels of the valley for the next 16 days. Sixteen days of cold nights and damp mornings. She pulled her blue jacket up around her neck, chilled now that she’d stopped moving. _Was she regretting this?_

 _Down there were the grey confining walls, the piles of paper demanding her immediate attention, thousands upon thousands of dull forms and the sheer boredom of fort life. Up here… well, up here there was the eagle_. Taking a deep breath of exceedingly fresh if thin air she adjusted her shako to a jaunty angle and turned to her companion with a grin of pure joy.

“Not a chance.” She swung a lazy fist bump which Mal easily avoided. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Corporal. Not after all the late nights I had to put in to get all the paperwork for the next two weeks filed appropriately.”

“I helped!”

They fell into step together, picking their way over the loose shale. By the looks of it the track became a stream whenever there was even a moderate rain storm up here and neither wanted to turn an ankle on a loose rock.

“You helped? _That was helping?_ Pacing the office night after night until I threw you out for being too-jittery-to-live whereupon you invariably slipped off to play Cripple Mr Onion in the guardroom bringing back a veritable choir to serenade me from the corridor with what you termed inspirational music? _That was meant to be helping?_ ”

“I may have been a little too imaginative at times I admit.” Mal rubbed a fading bruise on her temple where she’d moved a little too slowly to avoid a perfectly aimed file. “But I was _bored_ , Pol.”

“Yes, you said. _Many times_. Generally whilst I was in the middle of a very complicated mathematical problem.”

Luckily for their friendship at that moment a shout came down the line and, reluctant to be left behind they sped up, saving their breath for the scramble. Sub Lt Latimer might be the closest thing they had to friends in high places and they owed him big time for letting Polly come on this Patrol. It would be a shame to do anything that might be construed as letting him down.

~X~

By the time the sun collapsed exhausted behind the mountains after a successful day’s work the patrol had arrived at their home for the foreseeable future. A clearing had been clawed out of the surrounding forest probably by whoever had inhabited the remains of some kind of dwelling that huddled along one side. At one point a woodcutters hut, it was now nothing more than a collection of large stones tumbled here and there like the discarded building blocks of some giant’s offspring. Polly’s aching muscles looked upon the rough grass and declared it heaven. She didn’t consider herself unfit, sword training against a vampire who didn’t experience physical exhaustion was a good way to stay in shape, but she was ready to admit to a little fatigue. As the rest of the lads lay sprawled around her, easing tiredly out of heavy packs she concluded there was no shame in that.

“Alright! You know what to do!” Sergeant Kettering jumped to his feet and began to order them about as Latimer returned from carrying out private deeds beyond the tree line. “Turner and Finchley first watch, Tinsley and van Hoeffler second watch, the rest of you divide up amongst yourselves. Perks, you’re with me.”

He jerked his head at a quiet corner of the clearing and hauling herself to her feet she ambled over as quickly as her stiffening legs would allow.

“You and yer monkey get the night watch, relieved at first light, ‘k?”

“When a person beats another person at cards this act does make the said person an automatic member of the simian races.” Mal had sauntered over to poke a nose into the conversation.

“Shurrup, Corporal.” He turned back to Polly. “You keeps ‘em awake alright? Make yer rounds, keep ‘em quiet and if anything crops up - you call me or the Lieutenant sharpish.”

“Right, Sergeant.”

“Yer monkey can show you the sentry points and the OP.”

“Yes Sergeant.” Her elbow caught Mal under the ribs and apart from her small grunt of pain the pair stood in silence as he stalked away.

“That wasn’t nice.”

“You shouldn’t let him draw you. What happened to being the superior vampire race and all that?”

“He annoys me.” Mal frowned as she rubbed at bruised ribs.

“Then smile sweetly and pass by on the other side. You can always thrash him at cards again when we get back. He’ll love that.” An introspective smile drifted over the vampire’s face but Polly nudged her out of the reverie. “Come on, Monkey, you’ve got sentry points and an observation post to show me.” She scuttled away before Mal could wreak vengeance.

~X~

Telling the tale in later years even Polly would admit that her first night as a patrol sergeant wasn’t a rousing success. It had begun well, the sergeant trailing around behind Mal as the corporal attempted to familiarise her with their immediate surroundings. Latimer knew what he was doing; the sentry points were well placed, tucked away at quadrant points around the camp with decent viewing arcs for the sighting of any approaching foe. Sauntering out beyond the sentries they’d quickly come across the OP. Someone had carved out a gap in the vegetation where two people could sit on slowly disintegrating logs and have a view both up and down the valley and across to the mountain opposite. Squashing in alongside the two lads already settled into their watch she had passed round cigarettes, Mal striking the matches to get everyone puffing away. A minimal exchange of sentences sufficed to get the measure of her subordinates and Polly had left them to their surveillance having discovered that any length of time in contact with the damp logs allowed the transfer of moisture to the trousers of the sittee. Wandering back toward camp even the clinging uncomfortable of moist breeches couldn’t dampen her mood and she’d been struck again by the overwhelming realness of the woods. Tuning out Mal’s chatter she’d drifted to a halt, dazedly tracing the strong trunks reaching up to an unseen sky, the scent of leaf mulch invading her nasal passages to romp around her brain in exultant glee. Mal, recognising that in her exhaustion the bombardment of sights and sounds was almost overwhelming, stepped back to slip a supporting arm around her waist, encouraging her onward.

It was later that things developed a less professional tone. Having sat silently through the scratch supper, Polly had willingly accompanied Mal on a checking round of the sentries. On their return (after dropping in to the OP to introduce themselves to the most recent watchers) they found the remainder of their troops had turned in for the night. Reeling from the rising barrage of snores that resonated around the clearing they’d unanimously decided to find somewhere else to rest their weary legs.

“I think I saw an outcrop just off the path to the OP.” Mal accompanied her whisper with a shudder as an elephantine trumpeting drifted over the campsite.

“Can you find it in the dark?” Polly’s night vision had been destroyed the minute she laid eyes on the abandoned campfire, an amateur mistake she was kicking herself over.

“Vampire, remember?”

Stumbling in her wake Polly had tripped twice before Mal took pity on her and stretched back a helping hand. With her fingers entwined in that firm grasp, a tug to the left or right guiding her over the uneven ground Polly found the going much easier. As they made their way warily through the impenetrable forest the looming trees overhead sent chill tendrils down Polly’s spine but wrapped Mal in a comfortable blanket of gothic familiarity. The cluster of uncovered bedrock was exactly where the corporal had remembered. Her night vision returning, Polly scrambled up to find a welcoming point where a tired soldier who wasn’t too picky about cushioning could sit comfortably, leaning back against the rock. Mal leapt lightly up beside her, settling into the solid stone as though it were the softest armchair money could buy.

“How long before we need to check on the sentries again?”

Mal checked an internal clock and wobbled an inconclusive hand. Relaxing into the rock Polly let her head fall back, the prickle of muddled constellations far above somehow clearer up here in the thinner mountain air.

“…so many stars.”

“Yeah.” Mal craned her neck upward. “There’s _The Shovel_ , see? And the three stars that make up _The Obvious Triangle_ , also known as _The Goddess Feeding A Goat And Two Chickens_ , and if you stretch you can just make out _Conan_ over the mountain.”

The only response was a quiet snore. Mal shook her head on a sigh and wrapping an arm around Polly’s shoulders she tenderly guided the head of the tired sergeant onto a welcoming shoulder. Polly, bless her, had stubbornness in spades, but despite her best efforts every now and then humanity won out. Shifting under that amused gaze, Polly murmured something incomprehensible and snuggled innocently into the warm body beside her, unconsciously seeking to get away from the chill rock.

It was still early, the brightening sky restricted to a small area above the horizon when Polly woke. For a long moment she lay there, her drowsy mind slowly piercing together the hard rock against her hip and shoulder in contrast to the rough material against her cheek. _How had someone managed to steal the roof off the castle without anyone noticing?_ She blinked confusedly at the tree-framed sky with the remains of stars still twinkling down on her from overhead.

“Morning.” Mal appeared in her view, a cheery grin plastered beneath charmingly dishevelled locks. “Finished with my jacket yet?”

Polly shot upright, able at last to identify her makeshift pillow.

“How long was I asleep?”

Ambushed by a massive yawn she rubbed childlike at bleary eyes prompting Mal to paste another “adorable” iconograph into the scrapbook of memory.

“About six hours maybe?” Mal removed the jacket and shrugging into it gracefully, buttoned the collar up against the early morning chill. Disconcertingly the rough material was still warm in odd places from Polly’s cheek. “You didn’t snore, much.”

“Six hours?!” Polly scrambled down the rock. “What if something had happened? What if Latimer had decided to take a stroll? What if I’d decided to roll over and fallen to my death?”

“Relax Pol. You were exhausted, you fell asleep, nothing happened and like any good soldier you woke up in time for me to brief you to that effect long before your relief arrived.”

“Nothing happened?” Polly paused in her frantic efforts to remove any evidence of her extended nap from badly rumpled clothing.

“A quiet night all round. We’re due a sentry check; you can do that if you’re feeling industrious.”

Mal waited for said industrious activity but Polly didn’t move, uncertainty in her loitering.

“I don’t remember where they are.”

She flushed and Mal couldn’t help grinning at her discomfort.

“Come on Sergeant. Let the ever helpful corporal guide you back to the campsite. We’ll brew up in the age old fashion and provide our vigilant lads with a welcome cup of saloop to greet the new morn. You never know, this could be the one. I’ve always wanted a great big fish.”

~X~

Midmorning and Mal was smoking, lying back on her elbows, her boots stretched out toward the fire. They’d been relieved without incident, no-one questioning Polly’s description of a quiet uninterrupted night. The bustle of a patrol rising to a new day with associated complaints about breakfast was over and Latimer had sent out the wider sweeping squad to the first of the trouble spots on the list. The morning sentries had come in and gone back out again. It seemed everyone had some task, some place they should be. Except them. The night watch were not expected to make an appearance until the evening, but refreshed by an uninterrupted night’s sleep Polly hadn’t immediately sought her blanket roll. Mal of course never seemed to need sleep and so it was just the two of them, sat round the restrained campfire turning over the various possibilities for entertainment in low voices.

“We could have an explore.”

Mal threw her cigarette butt into the fire and dropped back to hide her face in her hands with an audible groan.

“I’m sure I saw something between the trees further up the hill.”

Mal rolled over, peeking through her fingers to see if Polly were in fact serious. Realising that she most definitely was the vampire rolled back again, resting her arm over her eyes.

“You, Pol will be the death of me.” She heaved a longsuffering sigh. “How far up the hill?”

“Not far, I’ll grab some rations, we could have a picnic.”

“A picnic. The woman wants to go on a _picnic_.” The vampire hauled herself to her feet, coiled grace in every movement. “I knew we shouldn’t have let females join the army. They only lead to trouble.”

“More trouble than the undead and their very pointy teeth?” Polly swung a bundle across her shoulders and strode purposefully toward the trees. Mal pulled a face and hurried after.

~X~

“I thought you said it wasn’t far?” Mal slashed at another branch, the scabbard wasn’t as effective as the sword, but she didn’t want to blunt her blades on mere vegetation.

They’d been walking for half an hour, fighting their way through years of undisturbed undergrowth. Polly was still hopeful, but Mal had been grumbling about being lost for the past ten minutes. Luckily, before the vampire could test her theory that no sergeant could survive being dangled from a tree by her ankles whilst an irate mountain lion cub took swipes at her head, they stumbled onto a trail cutting perpendicular to their path. It was wide, if overgrown, and seemed to cut straight across the shoulder of the hill as though designed to take more than mere occasional foot traffic. Polly kicking at the years of leaf mulch underfoot felt her boot connect with something solid, and digging down they found old flagstones, the eroded groves of passing carts still visible.

As Mal replaced the disturbed soil Polly stood bang in the middle of the road, shading her eyes as she squinted up and down the track attempting to uncover its deepest secrets.

“Which way?”

“There’s no difference.” Mal shrugged. “Toss a coin.”

“I’m skint. You’re the one with all the winnings, you toss.” The coin came down on the Duchess’s head and they swung left.

After ten minutes of easy walking the pair rounded a corner to see the glimpse of piled stone through the trees. Hurrying along they came up on the base of what looked like one of the old watchtowers that were strung out along the old line of the border. They shared a glance of astonishment and then, curious as the next man, separated to work their way around the base

“I found a door!” Polly ran her hands over the weathered wood, the iron door handle long ago rusted away leaving the shadow of it over the latch.

“Coming!” When Mal appeared at her shoulder, she was definitely not panting because vampires didn’t get out of breath, but an observant watcher would have to record that her chest was rising and falling just a smidgeon quicker with all the excitement.

“We should go in.”

“We should?”

Displaying unusual caution Mal tilted her head, listening to the creak that might be a tree against the upper stories, but could have been the stones themselves moving.

Her Sergeant huffed scornfully at her fears.

“It’s stood here for at least 100 years, it’s not going to fall down just because we’re inside it.”

“Onward then.” She straightened her shako. “Never let it be said a vampire quivered in the face of creaky death.”

Polly reached out and pushed gently at the door. Absolutely nothing happened. It was a wonderful anticlimax and like all mature people before them they fought the giggles rising inexorably from deep inside and failed miserably. In the end Mal had to put her shoulder to the wood, Polly exhorting her enthusiastically and they both fell into the lower room with a crash.

“Floor’s still here then.” Polly rubbed an elbow that had taken a good part of the fall.

“Indeed.” Mal applied the same basic first aid to a hip that performed admirably in cushioning her landing.

“Might I suggest a little investigation of this ‘ere building, Corporal?”

“I say, what? I believe that might be a ripping good idea you just had, Sergeant.”

Clambering to her feet Polly held out a hand and hauled Mal inelegantly to upright. Brushing down her jacket to remove the worst of the dirt the vampire declared herself ready to explore. They soon found that the lower levels were not that interesting, being mainly empty rooms. Passing swiftly through the second level, affected by collapse at the rear but generally structurally sound, they climbed the final steep set of steps to emerge out onto the roof.

“Wow.”

Polly could only agree wholeheartedly with Mal’s comprehensive response. The view stretched from the distant pass at the top of the valley all the way to the castle and town far below. Gazing out over the wooded slopes they could pick out the high farms and tiny woodcutter cottages on the mountain slopes opposite. Many years ago some genius had picked the perfect spot for a watchtower and then employed some people of less genius but more strength to build this sturdy stronghold to guard the people of Borogravia from whatever might come over the mountains. It was a gift.

Polly pulled out her telescope and focused it on the castle, astounded to see she how much detail she could pick out amongst the crenulations. She handed it over to Mal, pointing out the speck in the distance but the vampire seemed more taken with the instrument itself.

“Nice telescope.” She tilted it to read the engraving. _“To Polly Perks, For the Things That Never Happened. CC.”_ Mal frowned. “Who’s CC?”

“Christine Clogston.” Polly waited for the explosion.

“Clogston? Major-where’s-my-jam-sandwich-Clogston gave you a telescope? What were the things that never happened?”

“She meant the war.”

“Which war? The war I was in as well? The war we all helped with? Tonker and Lofty and Wazzer and Igorina and Jade and Shufti and all the rest? How come we didn’t all get telescopes? I could use a nice shiny telescope.”

“ _No_. Not that war. The one that didn’t happen. The one I went off to Ankh Morpork to negotiate into non-existence. The one that ended up with me being shoved off up here, thrown away and forgotten at the arse end of the world!”

“Oh.” Mal blinked at the object in her hands as though unsure how it had got there and handed it back carefully. “It’s a nice telescope.”

“Thank you.”

Turning her back Polly put the brass to her eye and scanned the wooded slopes below, attempting to pick out the camp she knew was somewhere down there.

“Do you fancy lunch?”

“I’m not Clogston.”

Polly spotted the movement of a blue jacket above off-white breeches through the canopy and followed it to what could be a small clearing. She wasn’t ignoring any tactless vampires that happened to be in the vicinity, she just wasn’t paying them that much attention, that was all.

“I never said you were.” Mal settled herself in the shade of the parapet, next to a tempting sunny spot. “Doesn’t mean you have to skip lunch though.”

A loud rumble from Polly’s stomach betrayed her. She sat herself a dignified distance from the sprawling vampire and received the hunk of bread with tight smile of thanks. Politeness was important. Lunch was taken in silence, but as Polly threw her apple core over the parapet into infinity the assuaging of her hunger pangs meant she was well on her way to being reconciled. Stretching out in the sun she was unexpectedly overtaken by a yawn.

“We should head back, your blanket roll must be more comfortable than bare stone.”

Mal climbed to her feet, offering a hand and Polly considered it carefully before placing her hand in that firm clasp. Mal drew her slowly to her feet, for once controlling her usual erratic tug and Polly left her hand in the vampires for a moment, accepting the apology unspoken.

The walk back to the camp took less time than the original struggle up to the road. They easily retraced their steps, the broken vegetation of Mal’s earlier frustration leaving a clear trail. Polly was asleep the minute her head hit the pillow of her folded jacket and when she woke refreshed some two hours later Mal was nowhere to be seen. The vampire strolled back into camp just as the wide brushstrokes of colour were beginning to fade from the sky. Polly made some comment about falling out of trees and handed over a mug of coffee from the pot constantly located on the edge of the fire. While Mal sipped from the possibly poisonous gunk Polly explained how she’d managed to brief Latimer on what they had found, drawing a series of maps on the flat topped rock with charcoal as he’d spooned thin stew into his thin mouth. To her obvious frustration as she told the tale, the sub-lieutenant had declined to make any decision until he’d had time to think.

That night it was Finchley in the OP for the first watch and they sat with him until the twinkling lights far away in the valley began to wink out. Murmuring a quiet goodnight to the friends tucked up in warm beds somewhere out there in the darkness they sat on, discussing this and that until his relief came. After escorting Finchley back to the camp, they picked up fresh mugs of tea and made their way back to the rock that was already feeling like home. Mal attempted to point out a few constellations but the uncooperative clouds hid much of the sky. They’d been sitting in companionable silence for a while when Mal asked “How’s your brother?”

“Fine. The Duchess is doing well. They’ve been upgrading the privies.”

Mal gave her a disbelieving look.

“No really. Shufti writes me letters. Very regular. She says ‘Hi’.”

Mal added an enquiring eyebrow, prompting Polly to continue:

“I may have mentioned you one or two times. When you were exceptionally annoying. She’s knitting you some socks.”

The vampire’s face became carefully expressionless. However, when Polly choked on the snigger in her throat Mal could hold it no longer and her poker face cracked into a million pieces. They lay back on the cold stone and gave way to gusts of laughter. It was comfortable there and once the chuckles died away they didn’t immediately sit up, talking a little longer about those far away places and the people they’d left behind, as all soldiers will in the small watches of the night. Quiet murmuring memories of home, wisps of reminiscence drifting up into the empty skies above. Eventually the conversation faded away naturally and they lay on, listening to the breeze rustling the remaining leaves on the trees.

“We should go round the sentries. They’re due a brew.” Polly stretched and sat up.

“Damn the army.”

“Indeed. Damn them all to hell.”

She slid down the rock, jumping the last foot to land heavily in the ankle deep undergrowth.

“Do you want a coffee?”

“Of course I want a coffee. Hang on though.”

Mal’s head emerged over the top of the outcrop.

“You never brew it right, you know that.”

She clambered gracefully down to link her arm with Polly’s.

“Duty calls. Let us away to bend our not insignificant minds to the glorious pursuit of caffeination.”

~X~

The next morning, after considering the options carefully Sub-Lieutenant Latimer revealed that he intended to investigate this watchtower and ordered Polly and Mal to make a good copy of the map they’d sketched for him the previous evening. They protested that they should be the ones to lead the squad but it was to no avail, Latimer leaving them to their bedrolls with the rest of the night watch. When they awoke mid afternoon it was to a camp decimated, with the bustle of lads stuffing the equipment that remained into packs. Apparently the patrol was moving to the tower, the Sub-Lieutenant having declared it a more than suitable billet for their remaining time on the mountain.

Their briefing that night was short. The OP was now on the roof above and the sentries were posted around the base of the tower, at a reasonable distance that they would pick up any creeping approach that the lookouts might miss in the darkness. The fire would be kept burning on the second floor for comfort purposes, hidden from any watchers by blocked windows, with the off duty troops playing cards on the lower level. Dismissed, Polly and Mal wandered up to rest on the still warm parapet, gazing down the friendly vista of the valley as the OP lads kept a weather eye in the other direction to the less welcoming lands nearer the border. Pulling out her telescope Polly swept the deeper darkness of the valley until she picked out the lanterns of the guards on the castle far below. Though the sky still had some colour in it somewhere down there someone was looking up at the mountain, watching vigilantly for the flicker of light signalling out of the darkness. Latimer would have something special to tell them tonight and she felt a flash of pity for the poor lad tasked with operating the lantern.

Later, as the tower slept peacefully beneath her, Polly her rounds complete for the moment settled in beside Mal, elbows on the parapet. The quiet murmuring of the lookouts melded with the rustling tree tops, giving them at least the sense of privacy.

Mal, who had been gathering the threads of previous conversations into one niggling whole, pulled her vacillating thoughts together and opened the conversation.

“Polly?

“Hmm?”

Deep in the mist of trying to remember whether Turner had one sugar or two in his coffee Polly wasn’t really paying attention and so missed the warning tremor of nervousness interwoven through that use of her name.

“Why did you sign up again?”

Polly thought for a moment, staring out into the impenetrable darkness as she waited for her night sight to return.

“I had the book, thought I could do something.” She shifted her weight against the supporting wall. “It was too soon.”

Behind them they heard a short gust of laughter at a dirty joke before the OP lads settled into quiet again.

“What about you?”

“Apart from the fact I was bored and I look good in a uniform?”

Even in the darkness Mal felt the look.

“It’s different for us, Polly. Vampires aren’t a friendly species. Another vampire isn’t company, it’s competition. I knew Jackrum must have given you something you could use and when I heard they were drumming up again I thought…” she paused. “I thought: _I might be new to this buddy thing, but friends don’t let friends walk into the jaws of hell without at least tagging along to make use of any prime mocking opportunities._ ”

“And if I didn’t come?”

“Well, like I said, I look good in a uniform and I needed a vacation anyway.” She brushed at the stone under her hand, sending moss spinning into the darkness. “You would have come, I know you. I knew you’d be planning something stupid.”

“ _And then I didn’t take you with me._ ”

Polly's quiet admission lay between them.

“It’s ok.” Mal leant closer and nudged that tight shoulder with her own. “I was away, you got the chance to go and you took it. I hadn’t said anything. You weren’t to know.”

“I would have taken you.”

“I know.”

Resting there, shoulder to shoulder with the vampire against the world, Polly sighed.

“What is it?”

But Polly didn’t respond and after waiting patiently for as long as she could Mal reiterated her enquiry.

“It’s just… sometimes… I wonder if it was worth it.” She drew in a deep breath, rubbing her face with her hands as she released it in a short gust. “Did I waste my opportunity, show my hand too soon? That book was power and I threw it away.”

“I don’t think you threw it away.” Mal spoke with quiet emphasis. “You gave them peace even if it was only for a short while. You gave fathers the chance to hold their children, mothers the time to watch their sons grow into men. Young folk spent the spring courting instead of dying in far away fields, grandparents lived out their years surrounded by family, and crops were planted, harvested and put away into storage for a fat winter.”

Polly turned in surprise. “You’re a vampire, immortal I believe the saying goes, outside the power of death. However did you learn the value of a single day?”

“Oh, here and there.” Mal thought of the scrapbook of memories, reverently returned to over and over in the quiet months after the attack on the keep. Of a too short period trekking through high forest, sleeping on uncomfortable ground, hiding from a malicious enemy and along the way learning everything possible about the mechanics of a single smile.

“Do you really think I didn’t waste it?”

“Really.”

The statement stood firm against the night and feeling the guilt wash out of the figure held together so stiffly at her side Mal added more softly:

“You do the best you can with whatever you can find. Luckily for the huddled masses, Borogravia found you.”

Polly sniffed and throwing caution to the wind Mal threw a comforting arm around the tired shoulders, squeezing gently. Behind them the one of OP lads stretched and took a turn about the roof in an attempt to keep awake. Passing by the pair now standing decorously side by side against the retaining wall he gave a murmured greeting, unconcerned that only the corporal replied. By the time they were given their privacy again Polly had found her composure once more and it was her turn to ask the question.

“Why did you stay? After I’d gone off to Ankh Morpork, by your own admission there was nothing left for you to stick around for, why didn’t you leave?”

Mal silently cursed the darkness that encouraged confidences but non-the-less couldn’t prevent the answer slipping from her grasp. The simple sentence somehow encapsulated the whole grubby entanglement.

“ _I gave my word_ ”

Polly looked over in enquiry, unsure as to what she meant.

“I told you I learnt to play cards in Guena but that was a bit of a simplification.”

Mal reached into her jacket for the ever present packet of tobacco and began to roll a cigarette.

“When I came up out of the horrors of that cell in Ankh Morpork they advised us that one should find something to do with all the new free time we now had. So I went on a trip.”

Her labours completed she inserted the narrow object between thin lips and struck a match. Her whole attention seemed to be focussed at the tip of her roll-up where the flame was gently playing across the paper. Eventually it was lit to her satisfaction and she shook the match out, dropping it into the darkness and delicately picked a tendril of tobacco from one lip. Only then did she deign to return to her story.

“I ended up floating down the Vieux River on a paddle steamer, living the high life, playing a young gentleman on the Grand Sneer whilst paying my way from my winnings at the table. Good times.”

A reminiscent smile peeked out for a second before darker memories re-surfaced.

“I lost my fortune, won someone else’s. Met some people, learnt some things.”

She took a deep drag, the end of the cigarette burning up brightly in the darkness and in the following pause they both watched it fade away to a muted glow.

“They tell you it’s the giving up of the blood that’s the hardest, but it’s not. When we stop feeding, stop merely reacting to the world and start thinking… that’s when we go mad.”

Mal had forgotten Polly was there, the quiet murmur almost a conversation with herself.

“I saw myself for the first time. A vampire: no morals, no finer feelings, no empathy. If I don’t have my honour, if my word counts for nothing, what good am I at all?”

She gestured uselessly, the tobacco firefly drawing painful pictures across the sky.

“I’m sorry.”

Polly lifted the cigarette from between those nervous fingers and took a deep drag in turn before handing it back. She couldn’t go on, even now unable to express aloud _why_ she hadn’t asked Mal back then. She was sorry. More sorry than she could say that she’d allowed her fears over why Mal had come back and her confusion about what the vampire wanted from her to let her to leave Mal behind with only an inborn stubbornness to keep her head above water.

“Hey, we ended up here anyway so _Nullus Anxietus_ as I hear they say in barbarian lands.”

Mal flicked the butt into the abyss and turned to lean back against the wall and look up at the towering mountains dark against the night sky.

“Would you have wanted to miss those stars?”

Polly agreed, allowing Mal’s humour to lead them into shallower waters. But as they stared up to the ineffable beauty produced by mere pinpricks of light in an infinite tapestry she knew she would never forget those simple quiet words spoken so steadily into the darkness.

~X~

The Patrol came down the track in loose formation, Corporal Finchley was out on point and the rest spread out behind him in small groups as they made their way across the fields. Above them the sky was torn into intensely orange and pink stripes by the setting sun, and the puff of their breath (Mal notwithstanding) lingered behind them in the chill air. Not needed for any defence purposes at this time Polly and Mal found themselves toward the rear, walking side by side in wide cart ruts, the muddy soil frozen underfoot.

It was going to be all right. Polly didn’t know where the certainty came from, but somehow she knew a corner had been turned. She could have kept the book for another time. She could have done it a different way. Maybe something else would have cropped up to keep Borogravia from that possibility of one last totally destructive war. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. Here and now they were alive, and walking down that rough cart track she knew she would have it no other way. She slipped her gloved hand into that of the corporal strolling next to her, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth as the sound of someone humming an old folk tune drifted back over the squad in time with their marching feet. Mal looked down in confusion but then as clarity broke through and she gave an understanding squeeze, releasing the hand before anyone noticed. Behind them one of the lads broke into the chorus and the rest joined in until Finchley fluffed a line and they had to stop for laughing.

Side by side, shoulders touching at every other step the Sergeant and her corporal tramped on toward the town spread out below them, smoke rising up into the chill evening air. Polly remembered Goldhawk had promised them chilli with named meat and her stomach rumbled in anticipation.

It was going to be all right. They were going to be all right. Both of them.

~X~


	3. Winter: Part One of Two

~X~

  


# Winter: part one of two

  


Tis the Season to be Jolly… and other things ending in ‘olly  
Sir pTerry: Hogswatch

After the initial friendly overtures of autumn, winter came all at once to the border regions in a freezing storm that swept in off the mountains. Impolite rain thrummed on the castle roofs without waiting to be formally introduced and lashed angrily at the windows. Outside the defensive walls the river rushed by, swollen and noisy as it threw itself against the rocky banks in a sulky attempt to invade the town. The clouds eventually deigned to move on, releasing both soldiers and townsfolk to venture out into detritus littered streets, looking up into pale washed-out skies and hoping for better to come.

Unfortunately the respite they looked for was not to be. Instead the season turned abruptly cruel with the valley suffering a week of bitterly freezing winds that blew straight off the ice-fields, penetrating all but the thickest walls of the castle. The temperature dropped like a stone. Unused to such conditions, recent conscripts to the Border Patrol stumbled about on frozen feet, complaining loud and often, their muttered curses a welcome camouflage for the nagging fear that it might get even worse. Those veterans that had weathered a border winter already huddled in their sensibly hoarded woollens and bore the sharp pains of returning circulation to hands held over glowing braziers with ill grace. The demand for scarves, gloves, warm underwear and other essentials soared as those without scavenged, borrowed or stole in their desperate attempts to keep warm. But, if there was one thing a posting to the Border Patrol taught, it was swift adaptation in the face of adversity and before long the cheerful sight of bundled spheres of youth sliding merrily over the frozen ground could be seen wherever a trickle of water could be found.

Two floors above the latest exuberant display Polly was just venturing to nibble on the end of her writing implement. This unprofessional intent was halted somewhat suddenly by her realisation that this time it was a pen and not her usual pencil. Frustrated, she returned her attention to the words scrawled across the page before her.

> _Dear Shufti,_
> 
>  _Thank you so much for the hat, with the weather dropping colder it has been much appreciated._

Dipping her pen in the ink she added:

> _…I am the envy of the entire fort with my dashing head apparel._

She squinted at _apparel_. Should that be one ‘p’ or two? Mal would know but then Mal wasn't here was she? No, she was off sulking (again) and thus unavailable for the asking of even banal questions related to spelling. Polly sighed.

The empty hearth mocked her, the lack of a familiar sardonic figure skulking by the fire a constant reminder of her current solitary situation. It hadn't always been this way. As the weather had closed in Mal had revealed an instinct to gravitate to any source of heat like moth to flame. It hadn't taken her long to find out that the supply office had been given special dispensation to have a fire (Polly's ability to manipulate a writing implement being somewhat adversely affected by the cold). Ignoring all protests the hearthstone had quickly become one of the vampire's favourite haunts and her dry commentary on the varied and interesting aspects of form filling had established itself as a regular accompaniment to Polly's working day.

 _And to be fair, Polly hadn't been all that adverse to the distraction_ , Sergeant Perks admitted wryly as she stretched her legs under the desk. Try as she might to concentrate on her letter, her eyes drifted again to that forlorn spot on the hearthstone. A ledger was a ledger was a ledger, but a pair of laughing eyes, a teasing grin and an embellished, impossible, but quite definitely non-fabricated, tale of vampiric youth made up a vastly more pleasant way of passing the time. Of course Polly contributed her own tales but as Mal possessed a greater span of years from which to pull stories (and Polly was, after all, meant to be working) the balance of words had fallen to the vampire more often than not.

 _Dammit Mal, where are you?_

Polly had allowed herself to get used to this irregular state of affairs. Had become accepting of mornings filled with laughter interspersed with exclamations of disbelief, warm cosy afternoons while a steady voice unwrapped private pearls of memory, and weaved through and over all the ever present scent of expensive coffee.

The fire spat, loud in the silence. Pushing the niggling worry regarding an annoying vampire to the back of her mind, Polly drew the inkwell closer. She had to get this letter finished today or she’d miss the post and with more storms moving in over the mountain, who knew when the road would be open again? She dipped her pen into the ink and began the next paragraph.

> _Thanks also for your long delicious letter. It’s awfully quiet out here at the moment, almost boring in fact, and any news from home is always welcome. Even when it's such shocking news as that! I can’t believe that that was young Jack’s first word! My brother and I will be having a little conversation when I get back home regarding his careless behaviour. Exposing my innocent young nephew to drovers talk indeed._
> 
>  _Though you have to admit, Shufti, it is kind of sweet the way he's willing to take the little mite everywhere with him, even when he's unloading the barrels. Don't be too hard on him, our Paul might be a bit of an idiot _(underlined three times) _, but he’s got a good heart. Knowing my brother he probably only wanted to keep Jack from pestering you while you're so tired. Which brings me nicely to the congratulations I owe you both! So, another nephew or niece is on the way? My, you have been busy._

Polly sketched a smiling face with swift strokes of her pen and paused again, casting an eye over Shufti's letter that was propped up at her left hand. But before she could begin again the quiet of the room dragged her thoughts away from The Duchess ,hundreds of leagues away, and back to her more immediate environment. Her coat was hanging disconsolately over the back of the armchair ( _Mal's armchair_ ) and glancing up Polly caught sight of the innocent soft wool peeking out of a pocket. Her ensuing sigh fluttered the propped up letter and she had to reach out and steady it.

 _That damn hat._

It wasn’t even like the row with Mal had been Polly's fault (she found herself adding “ _this time_ ” to that statement and scowled). The whole idiotic situation was entirely due to the arrival of the blasted package containing that blasted hat. By association that would make it Shufti’s fault but Polly wasn’t going to put that in her letter. Previously it had always been a pleasure to receive those carefully wrapped parcels, excitement bubbling up on first sight of that sturdy brown paper. Shufti (bless her over-maternal heart) persisted in sending little slices of home life, a painting of Jack by Paul to remind Polly what her nephew (adopted) looked like, candies that Polly always denied that she looked forward to, flavoured soaps that Shufti _knew_ she couldn’t get out here on the border and (of course) the ubiquitous bag of coffee for Mal.

 _And as to why Shufti had suddenly decided that coffee should be included, Polly had no idea. It wasn’t like she even mentioned Mal that often in her letters home..._

Since the first time the bag of coffee had appeared out of the wrappings Mal had become as impatient for the arrival of the next parcel as Polly and this latest delivery had been no exception. It had been only yesterday when Mal had bounded into her office, cheerfully interrupting Polly's serious and worthy attempts to brief Ganzfield on the army's requirements with respect to Form 16c. As interruptions of this kind had been occurring with ever increasing frequency over the past month (see coal allocation documentation – filed under OD for Official Dispatches) neither clerk reacted as the door slammed back on its hinges. Polly may have been struggling to suppress a traitorous smile but in her defence, compared to the piles of paperwork any interruption might have been considered pleasurable.

 _Well, not quite any interruption._

Her letter forgotten again, Polly twirled her pen between her fingers, subconsciously grateful that she had chosen a moment when it was out of ink to fall into abstracted reverie. _When had it first become apparent that this woman, originally nothing more than a friend in need, had become an essential ingredient of a good day, her insanity a welcome distraction, her ready wit a soothing calm for all frustrations, and her flashes of calm common-sense a balance to Polly's occasional private bouts of depression?_

Polly didn't know. All she knew was that as the irritating interruptions had kept occurring with unfailing frequency she had found herself meeting them more and more often with a lazy smile that sprawled over her face without any attempt at prior consent. But one couldn't express such sentiments in front of the faithful Ganzfield. Hence yesterday's difficulty. Luckily, before her thoughts had found themselves too knotted up in the problem Polly had been yanked back to reality by a smallish box dumped without ceremony onto her desk. It was tidily wrapped in brown paper.

She hadn't jumped, hadn't betrayed herself at all. She had merely enquired calmly of the delivering corporal what all this meant. They had been in the supply office after all. Hundreds of deliveries passed through the hands of Perks and Ganzfield every month. Just because there was a vampire on the other side of her desk twitching with glee had been no reason to change standard operating procedure.

Mal had pulled off a snappy salute, every inch the professional soldier.

“Parcel addressed to Sergeant Perks, sir. Arrived this morning, sir. Return address of Munz. Sir.”

Keeping a straight face (though with great difficulty) Polly had quickly dismissed the respectfully non-enquiring Ganzfield with a short apology and a promise to reschedule. When Mal had closed the door firmly behind him and turned back to the desk Polly been lucky enough to catch the expression of disappointment that flashed across the corporal's face as she found the parcel still there, pristine and untouched, absolutely not torn apart in an explosion of wild curiosity. Today had suddenly looked a lot more interesting. The very epitome of calm, Sergeant Perks had leant back in her chair, relaxed hands folded over her belt buckle. It was a well-known fact that nothing could induce a vampire to express excitement. It just wasn’t done. Tempting one of them to do so had therefore become one of the little high points of Polly's life.

The whimper of disappointment that had escaped her corporal's lips didn't go completely un-noticed, but Polly had been generous enough to pretend it hadn't happened. She waited.

“Aren't you going to open it?”

Feeling every inch the superior NCO Polly had drawn her eyebrows together and fixed the jiggling figure with a stare. The game was now officially afoot.

“Would I be correct in thinking that something in this parcel has excited your interest, Corporal?”

There had been a fraction of a second when Mal hung frozen before the vampire had relaxed into _pose 24: comfortable insouciance_. A less observant human wouldn't have noticed it. Polly did. She had also picked up on the occasional flicker that tugged at the corner of her corporal's eye indicating that all this serenity was taking considerable effort.

“Me, Sergeant?” Mal's tone had been so calm you could have floated paper swans on it without fear of capsizing them. “I was just curious to see what those rascally boys in the post room have done today in order to liven up the tedium of our daily life.”

She had stepped back to perch nonchalantly on the arm of the deep armchair that had been putting down roots beside Polly's fire ever since a vampire had decided it was her parlour as much as the fort’s Supply Clerk's office.

“I don’t believe it’s a prank.” Reluctant to give way to the giggles that had been threatening to overtake her and thus lose the game Polly had flipped the parcel over to check the post mark. “It has the usual return address on it. Do you have some other source of intelligence, Corporal? Perhaps from the gossip shops you inhabit?”

When she had looked up from the brown paper she had been surprised to discover Mal attempting to give her the smallest hint of a puppy dog look. _She had been practising again_.

No-one had yet fathomed why Mal had decided to develop this so very human manipulation technique. Vampires didn't need pleading sad eyes in their arsenal with so many other (more deadly) tools at their disposal. It made no sense. However, weeks had gone by and Mal had persisted in attempting to gain this facet of humanity until they had reached this state of affairs whereby Polly was coming to accept it as normal. She reassured herself that it was probably just an indication that the vampire had been living amongst them too long. Mal must have picked it up by osmosis from Finchley who had been known to use it to devastating effects in card games.

Unfortunately it was a hard expression to learn and on that auspicious morning Mal’s attempt had merely produced a muscle contraction such as might be found on the face of a constipated duck. It had been pathetic. Embarrassingly pathetic. Polly had fished in her desk for a penknife to cut the string. It was the merest hint of the white flag of surrender but sensing that they were finally getting to the point Mal had taken one long eager stride to hover over the desk.

 _Back in her office, the letter to Shufti crying out for her attention, Polly paused the memory and allowed it to fill out the image of that moment for a long minute. The chill steel of the knife under her fingers as she snapped it shut, the deep blue of Mal's jacket where it stretched across purposeful shoulders, the tension drawing open that perfectly cut collar to reveal the line of a long throat that ran away into shifting shadows thrown by that ridiculously ruffled creamy shirt. Mal's shirt. **Her friend Mal**. Hurriedly squashing all trains of thought, Polly jolted the memory into fast forward, long practice enabling her to ignore the traitorous voice at the back of her mind that whispered a request for her precise definition of friendship._

Eventually there had been no more paper to unwrap and Polly had folded back the flaps to remove the contents. The box contained the usual letter and oddments and something else. Nestled between the small sack of coffee and the paper wrap of sweets was...

“It's a hat.”

Mal had sounded disappointed and when Polly had looked up from the letter she had caught the vampire turning the soft knitting over and over in those delicate hands.

“Are you sulking?”

Mal had given no response and despite her best efforts Polly had been unable to stop the unhelpful laugh as she took her corporal's expression.

“You are! A 200 year old vampire is sulking because her surprise was ruined!”

Mal had growled, there was no other word for it, and Polly had been forced to throw herself over the desk in order to rescue the hat. Smoothing it out carefully on the desk she had folded it and returned it to its place.

“Let me make one thing quite clear to you, Mal. When you _finally_ get off your arse, lose the vampiric need for perfection, stop unravelling the hat that you’re knitting in secret every damn three rows because it’s not exactly flawless, and just get on and complete it the blasted thing. When you eventually do that, stick the bauble on and hand it over…” She drew a much needed breath. “I’ll wear it. With pride. And I will be the envy of all my friends. You have my word. But until that day comes, let me tell you, I will _not_ freeze my hair off just to assuage your ego. Are we clear?”

“I aint knitting no hat.”

While Polly had been stuck behind the desk still puzzling over a possibly clever use of grammar, the corporal had retreated steadily, only pausing at the door to reiterate “vampires don't knit” before vanishing grumpily into the corridor. That had been yesterday and the Supply Clerk's office had seen neither hide nor hair of the annoyance since. Polly sighed and dipping her pen into the ink again, continued with her letter.

> _Mal would send his congratulations as well, but he’s off sulking at the moment. No real reason, he’s just decided that humans are annoying, me in particular of course and thus he's probably diluting his sorrows by winning as much money off them at cards as physically possible. 30 hours straight now, would you believe anyone could hold a grudge for so long over a simple hat? (I'll have to tell you about it in my next letter, I'm running out of room now, sorry). But don't worry, any minute now I expect a shamefaced apologetic vampire to knock nervously at my door..._

The soft knock that came at the door at that very second brought a twitch of a smile to the busy correspondent. Polly paused in her writing, holding the pen to one side to prevent accidental blotting of the letter and called out her invitation of entry to the unseen knocker. Mal poked a cheerful head into the room.

“Supper time, Pol. Are you coming?”

Polly put down her pen.

“Am I forgiven?”

She folded her hands under her chin and gave Mal an interrogative look. But, uncooperative to the last, the vampire feigned a lack of understanding forcing Polly to sigh and shake her head as she clarified:

“for having the temerity to receive a generous gift, to wit a hat, from my sister in law?”

“Oh that.” Mal inched further into the room. “It took all night and most of today, but if you still want it...” She withdrew her hand from behind her back and proffered a woollen bundle.

“You didn't.”

Handing the item over the vampire shrugged with what couldn't possibly be embarrassment.

“You kept saying you were cold. It was going to be a surprise, I wanted to make sure you'd be warm on patrol. But then it took longer than I planned and I wasn't sure I'd get it finished in time. I didn't know you'd found out about it.”

“Impressive.” Looking up and catching Mal's eye she added “No, seriously. This is brilliant Mal. Thank you.”

Examining the cap in more detail Polly was astounded by the effort that had gone into producing something so small. The close weave of the wool boded well for heat capture purposes and Mal had managed to match the colour of their uniform jackets perfectly. The little decorative motif around the brow was a nice extra touch.

“It was kind of fun in the end.”

“Really?” Polly broke into a mischievous grin as she fitted the cap over her curls. “How delicious, I can't wait to let the League know how beneficial knitting can be to the unsteady temperament of the domestic vampire.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“In this hat? In a hat as cunning as this I'd dare anything.”

She adjusted it rakishly.

“I would be forced to wreak horrific revenge, you do know that don't you, Polly?”

Mal crept closer as she spoke, stalking cautiously as her prey moved out of reach behind the desk.

“Aw, come on, Mal. I don't believe even you could behave in an evil fashion toward someone wearing a hat as gorgeous as this. The power of cute would compel you.”

“Pah.” The corporal drew herself up in mock affront. “I would be easily able to withstand such dastardly attacks. I am after all the spawn of the underworld. Perfidy runs through my veins! Plus, all I would need to do is remove the hat and you would be in my power.”

She accompanied her words with the appropriate action, divesting Polly of the hat in one quick movement.

Polly retaliated but Mal easily batted her hands away as her feebly human opponent attempted to reclaim her property. She then hid the cap in an aggravatingly evil manner behind her back mocking the unsuccessful sergeant unmercifully.

“How are the mighty fallen.” She sidestepped a sudden rush. “One little slip and you fall completely under my spell. Mwuhahahahaha, ha-ha, ha.”

She paused using her minuscule advantage in height to hold the hat out of reach.

“Make me coffee, Polly.”

“I don't think so!”

Making a sudden grab for the cap Polly failed miserably but in the process of recovering her balance appeared to fall awkwardly against the armchair and with an exclamation of pain disappeared behind it in a clatter of fire irons.

“Pol!”

Mal hurried across the room to drop to her knees beside the curled up figure.

“Are you ok? Did you hurt yourself? Should I call someone?”

“Only the Diplomacy Corp with the articles of surrender because you've been completely rolled up! Horse, Foot and Trebuchet!”

Polly rolled away to the other side of the hearth, cap held safely in her hand. She waved her trophy gleefully into that shocked face.

“Gotcha!”

“Polly!” Mal sat back on her heels shaking her head. “You should be ashamed. Such behaviour! What would Shufti say?”

“She'd say good show, about time you got one across that blasted vampire.”

“Hmph.”

Mal clambered to her feet, but rudely refused to offer the sergeant a hand up.

“You're a disgrace to the notion of honour and decency and I've a good mind not to take you down to supper.” She paused at the door to cast a sparkling look back over her shoulder.

“Hang on.”

Slipping behind the desk, Polly scribbled a last paragraph.

> _Just to add, Mal's back (hurrah?) and we're off to supper so I must stop now or I'll never catch the post. All my love to you and Paul (Mal's too). Give my nephew a hug from me and punch my brother in the arm – he’ll know what for. I’m not sure when we’ll be able to get letters through again so don't worry if you don't hear from us until the spring. I'll do my very best not to murder the aggravation I appear to be lumbered with before the snow melts._
> 
>  _Best wishes for a good winter._
> 
>  _Polly._

Sprinkling sand over the still wet ink she shook off the excess and grabbed an envelope, waving the sheet to dry the last of the damp lines as she made her way to the door. “We can drop this off with Ganzfield on the way past.” She paused at the threshold to retrieve Hat Mark II from her pocket and crammed it down over her curls as they hurried out of the room to be the envy of all her friends, as promised.

~X~

According to tradition winter was a terrible time to be stuck on Border patrol but Polly found this hard to believe as they hurtled down the slope for what felt like the fifty millionth time. Mal had been unwilling to come tobogganing when Polly had first broached the subject. She'd claimed the activity was much too undignified for a vampire and anyway, why would anyone want to leave a nice warm coffee shop and an almost current copy of the _Ankh Morpork Times_ (how Mal's packages of neat newsprint were still getting through when the rest of them had received no post for weeks was a mystery) to get snow in their underwear? There was no reasonable argument.

Polly had smiled, stolen the _Times_ and admitting there was no sense in the pastime she had offered an unreasonable argument instead.

Racing down the gentle incline, the wind whipping up colour in her cheeks and bringing tears to her eyes, Polly felt strong arms tighten around her and grinned. Perhaps Mal was enjoying herself just a little. It was at this inauspicious moment that the sledge met an unexpected bump and flew off at right angles to bury its nose into a snowdrift with a muffled thump. A snow-insulated silence fell over the winter scene.

As she struggled to her knees, spitting out snow and shaking it out of her short-coat Polly looked around for Mal and found the vampire sprawled out on her stomach calmly picking snowflakes out of her hair. On closer examination, however, it could be seen that the tightly held shoulders were subject to random uncontrollable shudders and Polly flung herself forwards over the snow, worry pooling in her stomach. _What had Mal landed on?_ Rolling the vampire over with the greatest of care her frantic scramble to remember emergency first aid as related to the un-dead was halted by the realisation that Mal was merely fighting an insidious attack of the giggles. So far she seemed to be winning. Accepting she was under observation the vampire swallowed the last of her chuckles and presented a perfectly blank face as Polly shook her head in mock-despair.

Luckily the sergeant was distracted from commenting on such perfidious behaviour by the arrival of Barnett who flew past them on a piece of board, backwards. He didn't seem to be overly pleased with this state of affairs, judging by his tightly squeezed shut eyes and the lip clamped between his teeth. They watched his journey with interest until he parted company from his mount and took up accommodation in a nearby bush.

Wincing in sympathy they left him to extricate himself as best he could and turned their attention to their own needs in order to return to the fray. _Somewhere_ , thought Polly frowning, _somewhere there was a sledge_. As she began to cast a searching eye over their immediate surroundings Mal sat up and began to straighten her greatcoat before being overtaken by an almost human shiver. Flicking open a couple of buttons the vampire pulled out the collar of the jacket beneath, had a quick look and remarked in a most calm and disinterested tone: “I think I have snow in my shirt.” Unsure quite how to respond to this thrilling discovery Polly choked, her shoulders heaving as she tried desperately to keep a straight face. Then she caught a glimpse of the revealing twitch in Mal's cheek and there was no remedy for either of them but to lie back in the snow and give way to hysterical laughter.

One soul restoring interval later Mal sat up once again and readjusted her muffler.

“This is a most silly game”, she commented, drawing up a knee and flinging an arm around it to keep her balance on the uneven slope.

Polly wiggled around to rest against the greatcoat covered shoulder, wiping the rapidly cooling remains of the tears of laughter from her eyes and they watched the unlucky Barnett begin the long walk back up the hill, dragging his board behind him.

“Do you want to go back inside?”

“And admit defeat? Sod that!”

Mal scrambled to her feet, offering a hand to the smugly grinning sergeant.

“Company D have been accusing us of being slowcoaches all week. Are you going to take that lying down? It's time we made those bastards eat their words!”

Fishing the toboggan out of the drift she led the way back up the slope at a determined speed.

It got a little insane after that, people were going down in threes, in fours, at one point the idiots from Company D got 6 people on one toboggan. They didn’t get far, the bumpy snowfield spinning them off in all directions. As people hurried down the hill to untangle limbs and carry off the survivors Polly made use of the chance to draw breath, her gaze drifting from the mountains that ringed their playground down the slope of the fields, across the roofs of the village to the castle on its brave promontory.

 _This was it then, the thrilling life of Perks and Maladict: one time heroes who had been lifted aloft on the shoulders of the nation but were now reduced to the mere rank and file of the Borogravian Army. Upstanding lads they'd been, honourable takers of the Shilling who'd kissed the Duchess full face only to be shoved out of sight for being a smidgeon too irritating to be ignored. They'd had their fun and kicked up a deliciously lively ruckus, but now the dust had finally settled here they were, stuck out on the edge of the world as prisoners of the infamous Border Patrol._

 _Odd that_ , she thought as she watched two lads from Company D race each other back up the hill. _The terrible fate hadn't proved itself all that soul destroying after all. For all it didn't resemble anything she'd thought she wanted, life in the Border Patrol was surprisingly bearable. Yes, there were the chilly mornings and the endless paperwork. But alongside this there was another side, the constant attempts at distraction by Mal, cold afternoons spiced with energetic training (fighting a vampire armed with two swords was **'interesting'** to say the least). This was leavened with dark evenings that drew in quickly and welcomed all indoors to huddle round fiery braziers or deep inglenooks, cards or perhaps Thud to pass the time, friends spinning tales in the flickering warmth, the give and take of teasing barbs over mulled beer. All topped off with freezing nights, infinite darkness above and a vampire at her shoulder pointing up into the abyss as she guided her willing pupil through the basics of star navigation, both bundled up to the nines against the cold. Really, when you came down to it, it wasn't such a bad life in the army. She even got to throw things at Mal's head occasionally. _

She was drawn out of her introspection by the cheering as Turner (employing the judicial use of a foot to pick the fastest line) beat his most recent challenger into a poor second place. The lad was a natural and it was most beneficial that he had declared for them against the nefarious Company D only that morning. Adding her whistle to the applause that rose up again as the triumphant young man gathered up his sledge far below she felt a distracting nudge at her shoulder and turning found herself rubbing elbows with a familiar vampiric form once again.

“Wish me luck?”

It was the snow in her ears. It must have been. There was no other reason why she should have misheard that innocent request. Unfortunately having heard four words[1] instead of three Polly could only rock back on her heels and mouth “what?” while the background chatter faded away leaving them in an enclave of portentous silence. Her blood had cravenly abandoned ship, draining away into her boots as her thoughts spun out of control, taking the simple question and examining it intensely from every angle. It was only then that Polly realised (to her now reviving embarrassment) that the dratted vampire had in fact said something entirely innocuous and not the more physical demand that a certain distracted sergeant had heard[2].

Not that it wasn't a tempting proposition, despite the fact Mal hadn't actually said... Even on her most restrained day Polly would have to admit she had had thoughts. _It must have been something to do with snow blindness,_ she thought vaguely. _That was it. Hadn't they only been warned that morning as to the unbalancing effects of sun on fresh snow? What other explanation could there be for the narrowing of her vision to focus on wind chapped lips as a whispering voice came slinking forward to murmur of riches unimaginable and the benefits of just leaning in one smidgeon closer..._

“Sergeant?”

Mal's concerned hand on her arm had only been intended to steady her, but Polly was suddenly intensely conscious of the supportive grasp that encircled her forearm so delicately. She drew in an uneven breath feeling her previously well behaved stomach contract oddly, lightning racing on in molten streams down unsteady legs to earth itself in the snow at her feet. Eager to get in on the act the disc put in an additional spin especially for her whilst the encircling mountains shunned physics to get up and dance a slow gavotte. She looked up into glowing dark eyes that seemed to echo everything she was feeling and more.

The moment broke. Mal wrenched back her hand as though she'd been burnt and stumbled backward in the snow. Fighting for composure Polly watched as a mingled confusion of shock and fear flashed over that unexpectedly open face before the familiar portcullis was dropped back into place. Looking again she saw only a self-possessed vampire straightening the lapels of her coat. But despite that Polly was unable to forget the glimpse she had caught of the vulnerability lurking in those dark depths. Feeling like the worst kind of spy, she shoved her hands into her pockets, switching her gaze to the safer territory of the powdery snow on the corporal's shoulder. A lingering temptation urged her to brush it away gently, the texture of light flakes in conjunction with the rougher texture of thick wool unfolding in her mind.

“Er...”

 _Why did her mind chose now to go completely blank?_ Clutching at the calm presence of mind under pressure that had held her in such good stead during the long and complicated negotiations in Ankh Morpork she forced out a shaky:

“Good luck?”

Mal nodded and turned away. Feeling the blush start Polly could only thank the fates that the surrounding crowd were currently distracted by Finchley being his usual variety of idiot. No one had noticed that their respectable sergeant's rational thinking centres had dissolved into mush and were dribbling out of her ears. As she stood there trembling someone bumped into her and by the time she had recovered her balance Mal had vanished into the crowd clustered around the start. There was an encouraging roar from the crowd and two dark shapes flew away over the snow leaving the sergeant behind to frown and rub confusedly at her forehead.

[1] And really, in what world did vampires ever need kissing for luck anyway?

[2] In later years it became a frequent point of argument between them, oft returned to but never satisfactorily resolved. Polly usually ended up explaining to whomever had enquired in the first place that whatever she might have **actually** said, Mal's intent had been clear enough for any sensible person to pick up on it and therefore the precise wording used was beside the point.

~X~

 _What exactly had happened there then?_

Polly allowed herself the small consolation of a mini panic attack, deaf to the excited cheers of those watching the race. Standing there, chill reality striking up through the thin soles of her boots she quickly ran the last few minutes back over in her mind. It would be nice if she could say the events were surrounded in a haze of confusion but every second stood proud and crystal clear in her memory. And made absolutely no sense, even in hindsight. Polly frowned, the image of a concerned gaze dissolving into twin pools of infinite darkness playing and replaying in her mind. Mal had had more than her usual dose of coffee that morning, there was no sensible reason why she should have slipped. _If this was a slip..._ Polly pushed that thought away quickly.

It wasn't like she didn't understand the mechanics; life in the army was extremely educational in all kinds of encyclopaedic ways. But growing up looking after a brother and a pub didn't give a girl that much freedom to explore her available options. Then of course there had been the war and its aftermath. Not really the best time for getting up a dalliance, though that didn't mean some of the more foolhardy subalterns hadn't tried. _And what had Mal had to say about that? Nothing. Just smiled that closed smile and graciously bowed out to leave Polly her privacy._ The vampire hadn't gone far though, had been there in a flash when that Ensign had tried to carry his mission a little too deep into enemy territory. _And what had happened when Polly tried to express her thanks? Nothing. Again. Mal's throwaway shrug had particularly hurt that time._

After the war was over there had been those six months at home when Polly could have kissed anyone she wanted. _Could have, but didn't_. She'd been distracted by other matters, getting The Duchess up and going again and overseeing Paul and Shufti's stumbling courtship didn't leave much time for her own. _And the fact that she'd been too busy trying to work out the ache in her heart? The ache that had mysteriously disappeared when she'd re-joined the army?_

The army. That had been fun. And busy of course. Before long she'd been off to Ankh Morpork. Now there'd been plenty to kiss there. And explore, should she have so wished, the city was famed for its diversity. But though she had dallied here and there, in times when the negotiations were going badly or when loneliness clawed too deep (she still remembered with fondness the night Lt Schmidt had taken her to throw pebbles into the Ankh, watching them dissolve into strange fizzing colours) nothing had seemed worth the effort.

 _And now here she was. Here **they** were._

Mal hadn't instigated anything, all the vampire had done was to ask a friendly question, the rest had all been in Polly's imagination. All of it. Embarrassment, previously squashed by panic and confusion reared a pertinent head. _Oh Gods, she had made such a fool of herself. She had almost..._ There was only one thing for it. The strange little incident would just have to be put out of mind. Friendship with Mal was too precious to throw away over something as stupid as this.

Polly took the next dare without thinking. As she lowered herself onto the narrow sledge and prepared to take the hill head first a little voice tried to comment that if she hadn't been quite so unsettled she wouldn't have even considered it as an option. Polly ignored it and pushed off. But as the snow sped past her nose all her stupid worries dissolved away in the rush of mingled fear and excitement. At such speeds distractions simply could not be permitted and the even the persistent image of dark eyes that seemed to be longing for something blew away into the wind that howled around her ears.

The clapping drifted down from the gathered hoards at the summit as Polly rolled off at the bottom but her well-earned applause died away before she had even managed to pick herself up to give her stateliest bow. As she squinted up the hill she could see that there was some sort of lively discussion going up there. It looked like Mal was in the middle of it, but Polly couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t until she was dragging the sled back up the hill that she saw clearly what they had been cooking up. Before her disbelieving eyes a stupidly persuadable vampire walked calmly forward to the lip, placed the sled with precision and prepared to take her stance upon it.

 _**“MAL!!!”** _

Polly's scream must have reached the group but her shouted warning went ignored and she could only swallow back her cry of fear as the graceful figure kicked off, the sledge hanging for a moment on the crest of the hill before succumbing to gravity. Mal swept down toward her, balancing easily as the runners sang over the smooth snow, picking up more and more speed as she approached the bumpier terrain of the middle slope. There hadn't been enough snow to build up a safety buffer here and rocks dotted indiscriminately here and there stuck up menacingly through the too thin white covering. These obstacles sniggered insolently at Polly as the fragile duo of sledge and vampire hurtled into their midst. Polly held her breath.

Mal flew past. The blasted idiot was managing to keep her footing against all the odds as her unconventional steed bucked and wobbled in what seemed a knowing attempt to toss her into one of the many passing snowdrifts. If Polly hadn't been quite so petrified that she would be imminently eulogising this scene over a beautifully carved casket she would have taken a moment to admire the natural ability that enabled the irresponsible rapscallion to look so good whilst cheating death. As it was she dropped the string of her toboggan and ignoring its escape entirely ran back down to the bottom of the hill to give Mal a somewhat loud and vehement piece of her mind, all previous embarrasment forgotten.

Unfortunately her furious progress was interrupted when she tripped in the deeper snow and it was only Mal catching her flailing hands and bringing her to a gentle halt that prevented her from inadvertently grovelling at the vampire's feet. Despite this kindness Polly found herself perfectly able to ignore the foolish happy smile plastered all over the completely infuriating corporal's face and burst out into a formidable scold.

“What on _earth_ were you _thinking?_ You could have broken your neck! Are you _completely_ out of your mind?”

“Quite possibly.”

For all Mal couldn't help but notice the benefit to Polly's complexion delivered by the flushed cheeks and sparking eyes, now was possibly not _quite_ the moment to bring this up.

“It would damn well serve you right if you broke your leg! In fact I hope you do. _Both legs!!_ That'd learn you! And don't you dare come crying to me.”

Polly, having determined that her vampire had not taken any bad effects from her adventure was overtaken by reaction and wiped distractedly at suddenly wet eyes.

“I'll not sit up with you and deal the cards to keep you amused. I'll laugh. Haha, that's what I'll say. See? _Ha HA!!_ ”

She left Mal silent and standing there with her jaw dropping loose to her knees as the compact ball of trembling fury stormed away.

“Polly!”

Mal struggled through the deep snow as she chased after that stiff back.

“ _Polly!_ Come back. _Please?_ I'll be good! I promise I'll never do anything outrageous again. I'll be a little angel. _Polly!!_ ”

The object of her pleading turned round at last. “You'll never do _anything_ outrageous?”

“Never! I swear.”

Mal didn't appear to have crossed her fingers behind her back, but that was probably only because Polly had shown herself wise to that little trick before.

“You wouldn't be able to resist.” Polly was shaking her head in denial but she had paused long enough for Mal to catch up. The vampire teased apart those folded arms to grab for gloved hand, holding them in a reassuring clasp.

“If that was what you really wanted I would. Promise.”

Polly's hands made an abortive attempt to escape but were easily recaptured. Pressing them together in a steady clasp Mal employed her most serious expression.

“I swear.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Mal actually looked like she meant it.

Polly, unable to comprehend a world in which vampires obeyed her every whim, merely laughed as she extracted herself.

“I don't think I could survive that. A well behaved and decorous Mal?” She slipped her arm through the corporal's. “The peace and quiet might be nice at first, but all that agonised waiting for the other shoe to drop? Nah, I couldn't bear it.”

Grinning, Polly tugged at the arm linked with hers and they began to make their way up the hill for another go.

Later, sipping hot chocolate in front of the fire in the guardroom Polly let her eyes drift in warm satisfaction around the sprawling figures dotted here and there in a wide array of chairs ranging from the deep but shabby to the stiff and unyielding. Around her the conversation ebbed and flowed as one after another the gathered rank and file took turns to tell widely exaggerated tales of their exploits amongst the snow. Mal was quiet for once as she sat curled up in one of her graceful poses at Polly's feet. As the sergeant yawned she felt the vampire relax sideways against her knee, the dark head resting trustingly under her hand. With the warmth from the fire easing through tired muscles and slowing her mind like treacle she allowed her fingers to drift absent-mindedly through the light strands of hair.

She wasn't consciously aware of her actions and luckily the only person who saw (Goldhawk the ever observant) was too much of a gentleman to comment on the sight of a sergeant running her hands through the carefully dishevelled locks of the corporal sitting so quietly at her feet. Neither did he think there was anything to say when the corporal in question frowned suddenly and extracted himself with great dignity from the tableau to wander most nonchalantly away to a serendipitously darker corner of the room. And to whom could he mention the flash of loss that he had caught in those blue eyes and the momentary echo of darkness flickering across dark eyes in the shadows before they were once again hooded?

 _Best to let them get on with it,_ he decided. _Vampires could get somewhat shifty if you interfered in their personal affairs and he liked his limbs attached._

~X~


	4. Winter: Part Two of Two

~X~

  


# Winter: part two of two

  


Tis the Season to be Jolly… and other things ending in ‘olly  
Sir pTerry: Hogswatch

Even Polly had to admit the popularity of the gramophone wasn’t completely Mal’s fault.

Snow was falling from a heavy grey sky as a disconsolate sergeant moodily descended the stairs from the upper floor. Upper in more ways than one it contained the suites of power, the Border Patrol's motley collection of commanding officers. That long corridor was home to those whose authority all too often outstripped their meagre intelligence and was known for sending most petitioners away frustrated. Today had been no exception.

Ever since the arrival in late summer of an inventive vampire one particular Supply Clerk had been learning to forget that the Army owned her, body and soul. By hook and by crook the odd couple of Perks and Maladict been able to fool themselves that life in the army didn't always have to mean _Rules, Regulations_ and what Captain Slone persisted in referring to as _“Discthipline”_. With Latimer on their side they and their ragtag group of non-commissioned officers had carved for themselves a little corner of individuality out here on the forgotten edge of the normally restrictive Borogravian Army.

 _And then there were days like today that brought it home to her how powerless they all were when you really got down to it._

Polly slumped against a handy alcove. Through the deep windows she could see that the upper snowfields were enshrouded in low cloud, their loss a painful reminder that she had once again been denied a patrol. Somewhere up there a squad was pretending to monitor the border whilst indulging in illicit sledging races and burning their way through the carefully stacked wood stores. Yes, it would probably be cold and wet and terribly uncomfortable but she _had_ wanted to go. She sighed, the solid walls more than usually confining today. Below in the courtyard she could hear Latimer encouraging his longbow trainees. _He_ had managed to get his plan approved, why was re-discovering the art of longbow archery historically familiar to the lower orders more worthy of commendation than her request to make up the numbers on a routine patrol? She rested her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes.

It had not been a productive morning, the captain suffering with a more than usually vindictive hangover. Even with her aforethought to bring a steaming cup of tea it had been an uphill struggle to get him to understand even the simplest of paperwork. Polly herself hadn't been in the most amenable of moods and both had suffered through the meeting with ill grace. All she wanted now was to lock herself in the office and have a good mope over her files. She was definitely not in the mood for Mal's concept of entertainment and frowned as quick ears caught the sound of the corporal bounding her way up stairs.

Catching sight of her quarry slumped in the alcove, Mal halted mid leap to exclaim:

“There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!”

“Yes, here I am, Mal. Where else would you expect me to be? Where else other than somewhere in this delightfully situated castle, where the wind howls all through the freezing nights with no pity for all the hard-working folk who are trying to sleep?”

Polly had continued her descent, the irritated tirade with associated frustrated gestures accompanying her progress without any obvious ill effects.

“Surely in my role as the one and only supply clerk in the entire border patrol there could be no other place I'd rather be than stuck in this wonderful example of a busy and efficient bureaucratic hub.” The sergeant thought for a second after her brain caught up with her ears and amended the previous statement with a swiftly added, “though if you'd been eavesdropping on the conversation I was lucky enough to share with our illustrious captain this morning you'd find that hard to believe.”

Mal had renewed her boisterous ascent during this tirade and thus it came to pass that the pair met on the second floor landing. Interrupting Polly's rant without any sign of remorse Mal grabbed the sergeant by the arm and tugged urgently in the direction of away.

“Come _on_ , Polly. Time's a wasting!”

Not waiting for an answer the vampire spun around and set off back down the flight, taking the steps three at a time. Landing lightly on the first floor landing she sensed something was amiss and turned back. Her face fell as she realised Polly was still waiting where she had been so callously abandoned, halfway down the stairs.

“Polly?”

“Where are we going?”

“I can't tell you. Desperately secret mission.”

The clipped sentences shot out, Mal's instinctive verbosity reined in by the excitement coursing through her veins.

“Come on!”

“What? Why?”

Drawn into the adventure, however unwillingly, Polly began to descend the stairs.

“What did you do this time?”

Satisfied with Polly's evident capitulation Mal flashed a grin, protested “Nothing! _Yet..._ ” and on that ominous epithet disappeared from view along the corridor leading to the supply sergeant's office.

Moving more sedately in her wake Polly found the passageway empty of vampire. However, muffled noises of a frantic search reached her ears from the door worryingly ajar at the far end. Slightly concerned, the sergeant picked up her pace, breaking into a series of muttered threats against untidy members of the undead fraternity. Thus it was that when Mal popped her head back out into the corridor she found Polly a lot closer than anticipated. A pleased smile broke out over her face.

“Where's your coat?”

“Behind the door, where it usually is.”

Polly watched warily as Mal disappeared for a second time, re-emerging quickly with Polly's short-coat under one arm. Pulling the door closed behind her the corporal came back up the corridor almost at a run, spun Polly round and began pushing her back the way they had come.

“Mal!” Polly struggled ineffectively against the flow. “My files!”

“Leave them with Ganzfield.”

They were snatched from her hand and she could only look on with gaping mouth as Mal ran back down the corridor, opened a different door, thrust the folders at the unflappable Ganzfield and ran back. Finding Polly still standing in exactly same position that Mal had left her in, the vampire growled in frustration and dragged her on towards the Great Hall.

“At least put your coat on Polly. It's freezing outside.”

“But where are we going?” Polly managed to stick her arms into her coat sleeves and set about fishing in her pockets for her hat.

“I told you, vital secret mission.”

Mal glanced back and had to grin as she caught Polly in the middle of adjusting her head covering. Flinging an encouraging arm about Polly's shoulders she urged her onward with a cheery “Now, come ON!”

The secret, whatever it was, was not hidden within the castle walls. As she stumbled through the slush along the slippery road into town poor kidnapped Polly gathered enough breath to reiterate her demands to know the purpose of their expedition. But Mal was deaf to all attempts at conversation, dragging them along by strength of will and seemingly blind to her struggles. However, when Polly did slip on a patch of black ice her flailing arm was immediately caught in a strong grasp. Mal held her up until she found her balance again, dark eyes meeting Polly's in soft apology. After that Mal did slow her frantic pace a little, slipping her arm through Polly's and keeping it there even after they had reached the cleared paths of the High Street. With firm ground underfoot at last, they quickly reached their destination, Mal bringing them to a halt outside _Le Fouquet's._

 _Naturally,_ thought Polly, rolling her eyes. _Where else outside the castle would Mal be able to create mayhem without consequence?_

The owner of _Le Fouquet's_ , mindful of the amount of coffee the corporal could put away, had swiftly become a boon companion; his café Mal's safe haven amongst the illiterate hordes. _Le Fouquet's_ were quite nice to Polly too but she could never be sure whether this was merely due to her association with the blessed (if demanding) Corporal Maladict.

“Are you ready?”

Dancing eyes met Polly's over tightly bound scarves.

“For what?”

“For _this!_ ” And Mal swung wide the door, waving Polly inside.

The warmth provided by the smallish stove, backed up by _Le Fouquet's_ ingenious central heating system, hit them like the proverbial brick wall and Polly quickly wriggled free from her scarf. As this didn't completely appease the heat fairies she carried on, pulling off her hat and thrusting it into a handy pocket as she struggled to undo the buttons of her coat with tingling fingers. Finally liberated at last she took a long look round, her eyes darting warily here and there in a quest for anything surprise shaped. Mal, unbearably frustrated by her un-robing antics, had pushed past to get to the bar. Polly sighed and followed the slim back that was weaving a hurried course between the smartly laid tables.

Having reached the bar and found it deserted the vampire called urgently for service, her excitement betrayed in the dancing fingertips subconsciously drumming along the top of the polished wood. She called again for Louis but her demands were answered instead by his son, Jean-Paul, who popped his head out of the kitchen to pass on the information that he was making a fresh batch of _chocolat_ and would bring some over for Polly _“immédiatement.“_ Polly, warm and rapidly improving in mood as Mal became more and more frustrated, settled her elbows on the bar and smiled her thanks. Jean-Paul gave her a cheerful wink before vanishing, and luckily for Mal's rising impatience it was only moments later that his father appeared to take position behind the bar, the ubiquitous towel over his shoulder.

“An espresso _M'sieur?_ ”

Louis was already turning to the shiny monstrosity behind him but Mal had other things on her mind.

“ _Mais, attend, mon petit vert chou fleur. J'ai reçu le mot il y avait une livraison pour moi, vous l'avez ici?_ ”

Polly blinked and dropped her gaze to the bar, her fingers tightening unconsciously brass rail that ran along the edge. It wasn't that she was unsteady on her feet, but nothing had prepared her for the effects of a vampire speaking fluent Quirmian. _Polite etiquette aside, people should warn people before they did that. It could cause all kinds of trouble_.

Annoyingly, her heartbeat didn't pay any attention to her increasingly insistent demands for order. Taking a steadying breath she forced herself to relax, folding her hands together in an imitation of calm that even impressed her by its verisimilitude. As her attention clambered back toward reality Polly realised that though she hadn't understood any of Mal's (beautifully accented) rattled sentence, Louis was pointing in the direction of a box perched on a small table and if Mal's expression of excited glee was anything to go by, this was where they would find the “surprise”.

Absorbed in examining her trophy Mal had upended the sturdy box on the table to squint at the labels and turned to Polly with such a smile of wicked promise that the brave sergeant feared for not only her future sanity, but the survival of the entire fort.

“ _Mal..._ ”

Absorbed in examining her trophy Mal had upended the sturdy box on the table to squint at the labels but now turned to Polly with such a smile of wicked promise that the brave sergeant feared for not only her future sanity, but the survival of the entire fort.

Polly's swiftly composed (yet still highly detailed) statement of the need for caution was brushed to one side before it could get under-way as her target audience, nominally distracted at the best of times, now bounced past her, only one aim in mind.

“Thank you, _thank you, Monsieur! Vous êtes superbe, mille bénédictions_.”

Louis, ambushed in the act of placing the tiny cup and saucer on a nearby table found himself facing a jubilant vampire who kissed him effusively on both cheeks. Extracting himself with difficulty he slipped away to take refuge behind his bar leaving Polly to enquire for the umpteenth time what exactly was going on.

“Hand over the knife, Pol, and I'll show you.”

Mal thrust a demanding hand in her direction. The cords that had been wrapped so tightly around the box were thick and even with her strong fingers she couldn’t break them. Polly, still wary, took a long moment to consider, but as Mal began to discuss the potential of biting her way in the beleaguered sergeant sighed and handed over the pocket knife with a shake of her head.

“This had better be worth it.” Polly hadn't completely used up her reproving comments quota yet. “I'm painfully behind on the requisition lists for this month as it is.”

Mal ignored her and, cutting the cords with a clean stroke, went on to rip eagerly through the paper gummed over the join where the lid sat tightly against the main body of the box. Eventually nothing stood between them and whatever this was but the heavy box itself.

 _There should have been fanfares_ , Polly thought, _perhaps the release of a dove, or at least a few sparrows. Something as obviously long waited for as this deserved some kind of recognition_.

Mal, unable to wait any longer, hauled off the lid to stand stunned at the prize thus revealed.

“Oh you _beauty_.”

An unholy grin broke over the vampire's face as she scrabbled about amongst the shredded paper shovelling large handfuls over the side in her desire to get at the contents.

“What is it though?”

Polly had yet to achieve a state of enlightenment. Looking around she noticed that, in addition to this disappointment ,her promised _chocolat_ hadn't arrived. Such evidence that the universe hated them would make anyone cranky.

“Oh, Polly. Staid, reliable Polly.” Mal withdrew her head from the crate to bestow a superior smile upon the befuddled sergeant. “This an abomination such as you have never seen. A _terribly_ wicked thing. They call it a _gramophone_.”

Reaching inside the packing case she lifted a carved wooden box out onto the table, running a caressing hand over the polished surface.

“A _what?_ ”

“A gramophone. When I was in the Bright Young Things[3]...”

“You were busy corrupting the innocent and murdering the general population.”

“Yes, that too. But the music we used to listen to back then. Dancing the night away at the _Kit Kat Club..._ ” Mal's voice trailed off, suddenly distracted. “Great Armundsen, they've sent some records! Medals all round for service above and beyond the call of duty. I must write to _Dyscs_ [4] and recommend them.”

Ignoring Polly's mounting frustration the corporal delved back into the crate, emerging with her hands full of paper sheaths. “Look, Pol. _Chaz Parkin, Betty Smythe_ , a bit of _Partially Sighted Lemon Jefferson_ and, what's this? _Ella Fitzgeorge?_ Fantastic!”

She pushed the jumbled heap into Polly's hands and returned her attention to the box, thereby missing the look of confusion that her sergeant focused on her burdens.

“Are you going to help me set it up, Pol?”

“How?”

Mal paused in her industrious activity, struck by the conundrum of how to explain such complicated machinery to one so completely un-technological. Luckily she was saved from this unenviable task by the entry into the café of a ramshackle collection of youths, numbering amongst themselves the inevitable Barnett and Finchley. After quickly taking in the situation the lads made tracks toward the unfolding drama, arriving alongside the table with curiosity bursting from every pore.

“What have you got there, Corp?”

The lowly private's somewhat crude enquiry was not met by the usual scornful glare but rather a look of relief from Mal.

“Thank goodness for little boys.” She was still hauling parts out of the box. “C’mon, give me a hand here.”

The newly arrived willing hands and curious minds were swiftly drawn into the general madness. Barnett was given the task of removing the remains of the crate and the others gathered around eagerly to sort through the various parts. Before long the magnificence was exposed for all to see.

“It’s a gramophone.”

“Very observant of you Corporal Finchley, I shall be writing a letter of commendation to your commanding officer.”

Mal 's fingers danced amongst the orderly laid out pieces, hovering over a long slender piece coated in some sort of black resin.

“What’s a gramophone?”

“One of these apparently.” Polly smiled graciously on the confused Barnett. “All I’ve managed to discover so far is that it’s the most terrible variety of abomination and has an insidious effect on vampires similar to the most addictive of drugs ever invented.”

“It’s a way of playing music” Finchley was fastening random examples of wood and beaten metal together with dexterous fingers as he spoke. “They had one in the Big House back home. Banned of course, but that never stopped the Big House folk from doing what they wanted.” He picked through the heaped cogs before selecting the one he wanted.

Mal left him to his task and turned her attention to the records, muttering quietly to herself as she flicked her way through the untidy pile. Polly was left to look on in befuddlement as the carved box grew a flat circular surface, a long arm and some sort of large horn that she couldn't even begin to make sense of in terms of where one might blow into it. Or why.

Before Polly could fully form the question Mal pounced on an otherwise undistinguished paper envelope. Pushing Finchley to one side she placed a black disc on the shiny circular surface and turning the handle at the rear of the device she used her other hand to do something complicated with the fiddly long arm. There was a long crackly silence and then music burst out of the air filling the café with its richness. Barnett looked in confusion for the band but came up blank. Polly was astounded. How did all those instruments get onto that little black disc? And what was this music? It was unlike anything Polly had heard before. She stood opened-mouthed as the tune stole into her ears and began to get down and busy within her hind brain, hot wiring down her spine and setting her feet tapping. It was amazing, bewitching, compulsive. It was also somewhat disconcerting.

“What _is_ it?”

She pulled on Mal's arm, dragging the corporal back from wherever the music had taken her. The vampire blinked hazily , the cloud of old memories that troubled the pure black of her eyes melting away. Realising she probably hadn't heard the original question, Polly tried again.

“Mal! What is it?”

“I told you: a gramophone.”

“No. _This_. What is this?”

“Oh, this? This is Jazz.” And Mal grinned, the little devils in her eyes dancing salaciously to the driving beat. “Terribly bad for you and banned almost everywhere but still the only music worth listening to. Why, I recall one year we walked twenty miles after the carriage overturned just to get to _Ronald Pict's..._ [5].” She sighed. “But that's another story for another time.”

Leaving Finchley in charge of the gramophone, Mal drew Polly away from the admiring crowd. Resting a hip nonchalantly on one of Louis's perfectly laid table Mal made sure her cuffs were perfectly in place before asking:

“Do you like it then, Pol? Was it a good surprise?”

Polly, turning from the worshiping crowd, caught a glimpse of a tiny flutter of expectant hope lurking deep behind the mischief in Mal's eyes and felt again that odd sensation curling deep in her stomach. _Didn't Mal know?_ The daft vampire had managed to find the one thing that could bring freedom no matter how solidly thick or tall the walls might grow. She had found it and had got hold of it (goodness knew what _that_ had entailed) and had then given it away.

As the music sang on, soothing all the little knots of frustration out of her soul, Polly was struck by a sudden urge to throw grateful arms around her benefactor and show the incorrigible idiot exactly how much she appreciated this stupid, _crazy_ , idea.

But she couldn't. It was bone-headed to hope that her daft vampire had engineered this surprise specifically for one lonely frustrated sergeant. Such daft ideas were only fit to be ignored. _It was more likely that the vampire had merely done it to alleviate her own boredom, stuck as she was in a mediocre castle with only the lower ranks of the soldiery to talk to_.

Polly suddenly realised the original question was still hanging out there without a reply and desperately pummelled her voice box back into life. Whatever this thing between them was (or more probably wasn't), it definitely wasn't worth pursuing at the extent of a hard won friendship.

So, in a terribly off-hand manner, the sensible and unemotional Sergeant Perks stated (in a sensible and unemotional manner) that she wasn't against the idea on the whole, but would have to reserve judgement until the full effects on the lower ranks could be determined. Luckily this answer seemed acceptable to the (even more sensible and unemotional) Corporal Maladict and hitching herself off the table the corporal returned her attention to the ever necessary task of preventing Finchley from breaking anything in his enthusiasm.

 _Polly, left behind to watch the discussion of technique that sprang up, couldn't know that behind the outer equanimity, Mal was struggling. This had never been part of the plan. Amusing distraction – yes. Mischief – yes. But somehow along the way, finding a way to live despite the rules and regulations had turned into friendship and then friendship had turned into... into what? Hadn't Mal made a solemn vow after the sledging fiasco to keep it light? To not confuse the girl? Hadn't she realised with dreadful clarity that loosing Polly's friendship over this, whatever this was, was an outcome to be avoided at all costs? And yet the expressions that had burst onto Polly's face as the music began to play had been worth a million confusing recriminations. The woman had been so low, the confinement of the fort compressing her in, that Mal had simply HAD to do something. And now? Mal, remembering how that happy smile had crept back over Polly's face, measured the trouble and frustration of getting the gramophone all the way from Ankh Morpork (including the hiring of a man, two pack-ponies and the difficult invention of an ingenious sling design) and found it worthwhile._

[3] The Bright Young Things, Uberwald's most stylishly dressed club contained the very creme de la creme of the Ramtops young vampire bloods (perhaps not the best description but there you are). Entry was tightly overseen and successful applicants, would only find entry secured by walking across the bridge that crossed the raging River Thyng in Uberwald at high noon.

Most did it in a coat and hat. The best of fashion naturally, but still protected against the elements. Mal did it bareheaded and in shirtsleeves on a Tuesday in late spring. 

Of course she'd been practising in secret since the depths of winter, slowly acclimatising her skin to the thin sun and then persisting as it grew stronger. But no one else had had to know that as she picked her way delicately along the parapet (never one to diminish the chance for showing off). Halting in the centre of the bridge she had tucked her cane under one arm and calmly lit a cigarette, blowing a satisfied smoke ring as the clock over the market place struck noon.

The sunburn that kept her in bed for two days and the migraine that accompanied it were put down to too much celebration and the pair of delicious twins she had persuaded to support her home in the post-party goodbyes.

[4] Dyscs: All the Discs on the Dysc. Ask us about vynll.

[5] Tourism for London requests that I inform non-natives that Jazz clubs other than Ronnie Scott's can be found in our fair capital. Always remember to do your own research and use a registered cab company to get home. Oh, and don't drink the absinthe. **Mind The Gap**.

~X~

The gramophone enjoyed a majestic reign at _Le Fouquet's_ for the next few days with Mal sneaking down to worship it as often as possible. However, once the vampire had scouted the castle entrances to her satisfaction and had plotted the times when she could be certain the coast was relatively clear she informed Polly that it was time to bring her beauty home. Naturally the 'staid' and 'boring' Sergeant Perks (Mal's words) disagreed. Despite Polly's extensive sabotage tactics and most strenuous efforts of distraction Mal non-the-less persuaded a subset of the available soldiery that it was their bounded duty to help sneak the gramophone into the castle. In fairness it was a good speech. Polly was left to trail behind as they snuck down into the town and when Mal's self-designated “genius plan” came to victorious fruition, nothing remained for the vanquished sergeant to do but sigh and sulk in the background as the procession wound its way home across the bridge with much rejoicing.

Calling on the array of skills she'd been developing since the vampire had slunk back into her life, Polly found the strength to be gracious in the face of defeat. She even allowed Mal to persuade her that the item in question should be hidden in her office away from prying eyes. The corporal really was getting much better at those pleading eyes.

Once installed, word quickly spread through the castle of the latest abomination that 'that blasted vampire' had introduced into their lives. The response was generally positive, young men knocking on Polly's door with a hopeful look in their eyes and a polite request to look at the instrument in question. Of course, some were less well-mannered: young Finchley (who had fallen in love with the gramophone at first sight) stole it away at every opportunity. Despite the combined efforts of the entire fort to play with her new toy, Mal did manage to occasionally get her hands on what was essentially her own property. It did, however, take all her powers of persuasion, including lying, whining and on one occasion theft. Though, as she explained to Polly when she raced into the office and hid with it in her arms under the desk, it _was_ hers to steal.

Every week new records arrived wrapped in thick white paper and cardboard (the post was coming through in dribs and drabs despite the weather). Slipping into the supply office with a package under her arm and an eager glint in her eye, Mal would barely wait for the beginning of a permissive nod before dragging the gramophone out and installing it on the rug before the hearth. Seated there with the fire at her back, one knee casually tucked under chin she would set about introducing Polly to the joys of swing, guiding her through the foothills of close harmonies and mountainous peaks of complicated syncopation. On one rare occasion a special parcel arrived all the way from Quirm and they had an educational afternoon's detour into counterpoint and the symphonic harmonies found in a _Swedehoven_ sonata.

These times quickly became ones to treasure, a step removed from the dreary routine of Border life that attacked them at every turn. Polly, working industriously at her ledgers, found herself glancing up from time to time with a quiet smile at the vampire sprawled across her easy chair, one leg thrown absent-mindedly over an upholstered arm. Mal was generally too caught up in the intricacies of her abominable toy but on rare occasions some strange awareness would act to prompt her of the sergeant's amused gaze and she would raise her head to meet it with an answering soft smile of her own.

Time, racing past so quickly as the weather beat against the cold stone of the fort's defences, slowed down for them on those lazy afternoons. Polly thought sometimes that this was almost too perfect, a small flicker of fear at the back of her mind wondering exactly what she had done to deserve such happiness and exactly when and how the universe might be expecting payment. But in general her thoughts ran on far more gladdening lines, about how it was better to live content in the moment and enjoy any gift received, no matter how small. The army was very insistent about teaching you that lesson and she had learnt it well.

Outwardly unburdened by such problems Mal happily picked her way through her now extensive collection, playing record after record as the fire crackled and spat at her back. There were even rare occasions when she forget her audience enough to break into quiet song as the discs spun on beside her. As the weeks passed Polly found that she was also humming these unnamed tunes as she went about her daily tasks. It was somewhat disconcerting, especially when the Captain found her doing the soft shoe shuffle to _“On top of the world”_ by _The Wood-shapers_ along an upper level corridor.

On one otherwise unremarkable Saturday night Finchley finally persuaded Mal to allow him to bring the abomination to the card game. Hogswatch was fast approaching and as the ' _uncivilised savage festival'_ was an abhorrence to any orthodox follower of the Nugganic church, the entire fort was naturally looking forward to it with great excitement. On the morrow the last patrol before the celebration would set out for the high snow fields and as Mal had been selected for this great honour she was more than willing to be distracted by some sort of party. Where Mal led everyone else by now was more than willing to follow and so it was that the protests of the more dour members of the group were overruled without much argument. Under confused direction the table in the guardroom was pushed back to open up a minuscule area of bare boards which was generously declared to be the dance floor.

Mal, refusing to give up control of her precious possession, found them a lively tune and it quickly became apparent that what the mingled soldiery sorely lacked in skill, they were more than willing to make up for in eager enthusiasm. Caught out by their antics Polly saved herself with a discreet coughing fit before hurriedly hiding her unstoppable laughter behind a decorous handkerchief. When she had regained her composure and could once again lift her head it was to the awe inspiring sight of Finchley surprising them all with a previously unsuspected hidden talent for leading out the ladies. To Mal's undisguised amusement he was forced to demonstrate this skill with Barnett (the Border Boys being somewhat lacking in persons of an admitted female nature).

Eventually, her capacity for the manual labour of turning the handle exceeded, Mal handed over the operation of the gramophone to another. Scowling in response to Polly's amused commentary (via eyebrow and expressive smirk) the corporal retreated to the calmer waters of the room's perimeter. Polly followed and they gravitated automatically to the card table around which sat the select few who did not dance. Squashed into the dark corner these shining examples of dignity looked down upon the prevailing jollity as a Morningside spinster might address the antics of a troop of Bonobos in full swing. Kettering was dealing and as Mal hovered over the shoulders of those lucky enough to snatch a seat amongst the lack of space, he indicated with a wave of the hand that vampires were not welcome this evening. Unusually polite for once Mal nodded and bowing to the ring of serious players both she and Polly drifted on. They happened upon an unclaimed stores crate left against the wall by some undisciplined youth and after a short but frank discussion on precedence and relative needs with regards to space they settled comfortably to observe the scene.

Finchley had of course asked for Polly's hand during the long and complicated processes that had been necessary to get Mal to release the precious gramophone into the rowdy environment of the guardroom. Polly had refused him, all sixteen times. However, before long he became forgetful and despite the past evidence of her unwillingness to walk the boards with him he bounced over to try again. The fact he had by now exhausted and comprehensively embarrassed Barnett may have contributed to his unwise persistence. Sadly for him, Polly was perfectly happy on her crate and said so, each time waving him back to the dance with a cheerful smile. Left in peace she returned to her previous and most pleasant position, leaning comfortably against Mal's shoulder as the sharp barbs of the vampire's murmured commentary on the prancing couples were dropped sweetly into her ear.

Surprisingly it was Goldhawk who won her hand first. He'd brought them refreshment from time to time, standing beside them in their little corner and both had come to look upon his approaches as a welcome addition to their evening. However, this time he had something different on his mind and bowing low as the music flowed into a more familiar vein he offered himself as partner for the folk dance they were trying to set up with great difficulty in the small space available. Polly, tempted by the lively rhythms, looked to Mal for aid but found none as her helpmate merely leant back against the wall and reaching into her pocket for her tobacco pouch indicated the dance floor with a negligent wave of the hand.

Goldhawk was a good partner, skilled and considerate and Polly had so much fun that when the dance was over and she turned from thanking him to find Finchley at her elbow, she threw caution to the winds. As she was dragged away through the throng she cast the distinguished sergeant an apologetic look over her shoulder but was rewarded by a shake of the head and a smile of genuine amusement at her ambush. Fun wasn't quite the word for what happened next. Obviously, whoever had taught Finchley to dance had not skipped out on the flashier side of a leading man's responsibilities. Twirled and lifted Polly found herself more often holding on for dear life than proceeding on a shared course. Indeed, the first time he tried to dip her they almost ended up in the coal scuttle and she was forced to order him to tone it down a little. Blushing he apologised profusely and they spent the next song weaving a more sedate path in and out of the jostling bodies. Slowly Polly got her confidence back and they began to add a twirl here and there, Finchley warning her well in advance and collecting her carefully after each procedure. She even allowed him dip her again (after checking the area carefully for unexpected obstructions).

As Polly moved around the room her attention may have been mainly on the difficult task of not stepping on Finchley's feet but she never lost sight of where the vampire sat, the crate to herself now, one knee tucked under her chin. She couldn't be sure exactly whom Mal's steady gaze was following, there were various others prancing about and vying for the vampire's amused attention. But non-the-less, whenever Polly glanced over it seemed Mal was always watching her, the corporal breaking into encouraging smiles as soon as their eyes met. There was, however, one moment when she caught Mal unawares. Twirled around in her partner's arms Polly managed to snatch only the merest glimpse as she spun past, but what she saw jolted her. For that split second there had been a sadness in the dark eyes, a look almost of yearning, but as soon as she had steadied herself and glanced back she found the slim figure was laughing merrily at her across the floor, the revealing look gone as though it had never been.

 _The last patrol of the year was hell itself. Over those two weeks, as a determined suite of blizzards beat about the walls of the watchtower up on the mountain, Mal found herself holding tightly to the memory of that happy evening. Surrounded on all sides by the muttered complaints of her squad mates and suffering an aching loneliness that she could not name the vampire found herself turning again and again to those flickering images. It wasn't as though there were any other pleasant distractions to take up her time. The long nights dragged on and watch after watch she remained shivering at her post, face often screwed up against the driving snow. It was not an experience she would have recommended to anyone but somehow nothing seemed quite so bad when she had the memory of Finchley and Barnett waltzing to warm her heart. Even to herself she couldn't quite admit that it wasn't just the blazing heat thrown out by the fire on that wonderful evening that brought a soft smile to her lips even as the snow melted around her collar and dripped down her neck._

 _Off duty, they all struggled to sleep in the bitter cold but the few minutes of slumber Mal did snatch were filled with vivid dreams of flickering firelight, spinning shadows and blond curls above a beaming smile that slipped in and out of view as grey forms twirled in the wind. Waking alone to a cold pallet she could never decide whether such dreams were a blessing or a curse but eventually, as the patrol drew to an close and the lads began to speak of their return to the world below, she found she didn't care. Dreams were all she could ever hope for down there in the real world and so dreams would have to suffice._

 _Vampires are a long lived species and over time their memory stores have evolved to hold a great deal more information than the average human. Even so it would be impossible to remember absolutely everything and Mal, as scion of one of the older vampire families, knew this. None-the-less, she swore to do everything in her power to preserve the precious image of Polly twirling in the strong arms of an energetic young Corporal Finchley, their shadows swaying around the walls in the dancing firelight._

 _The perfectly framed iconograph of Finchley bending Polly delicately backwards, her hair flying loose as she laughed up at him with sparkling eyes, was a treasure Mal vowed to protect against the ravages of time for all time in the secret places of her heart. This she would remember._

~X~

The snow eventually blew away over the mountain and it was a clear blue sky that hung over the castle as Polly leant idly against the wall that separated the upper walkway from the lower levels. Her gaze was directed downward at a figure of high distinction and class clearing the snow from the cobblestones of the exercise yard below with the menial tool known as a shovel. Watching the vampire toiling doggedly against the snowdrifts Polly couldn't help the beginnings of an amused smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was good to have Mal back again. She had been somewhat missed.

Polly's mood changed and turning away from the sight below she slumped miserably against the wall. The smooth course of life generally travelled by the respected Sergeant Perks had entered somewhat uncertain waters and the bulk of that uncertainty had been recently traced to a single source. Polly sighed, the lonely little puffs of her breath hanging around doggedly in the cold air. It was a hard life, being an abomination.

It had started quite innocently. Just a little feeling of uncertainty, a little instability in the emotions, back when Mal had waved a cheerful goodbye and disappeared under the grand gatehouse at the tail of that blasted patrol. At first Polly had put the feeling down to a well-deserved hangover from the night before. In truth the send-off of this “last patrol” had been very comprehensive. Nursing her sore head Polly had vowed to think no more on the matter and sensibly returned to her ledgers. But the confused misery had refused to dissipate; sticking around even after the headache had receded. Before long Polly had had to admit defeat, the strange loneliness having built a solid beach-head across her emotions and settled down for the duration.

She'd hidden it well, but as one day of blessed quiet after another slipped by Polly had found herself struggling, unable either to pull herself together or discover why it was she felt so darned incomplete. Perplexed by her inability to control this nonsensical behaviour she'd found herself turning for comfort to the familiar melodies held within Mal's treasured black discs. Gazing out of her frost decorated window as the music spun out merrily behind her Polly had wandered through empty rooms of memories. If she couldn't beat 'em perhaps she could at least survive 'em. It wasn't Mal, but she had thought it might have been close enough to help.

 _It hadn't._

The days had passed slowly and painfully, but they did pass and eventually the Patrol had returned to the fort, safe and sound, if a little bit cold around the edges. Polly hadn't been waiting on the battlements for them to return, she'd stayed sensibly warm in her little office. The fact that the weather was so bad no-one, not even a Sergeant squinting through snow-caked eyelashes, could see more than 100 yards down the road was not mentioned. Besides, the simple precaution of bribing the youngest guard to inform her the minute anyone was seen enabled her to be there in the courtyard waiting as the Patrol blew in. If one were being entirely truthful it might be said that Polly had been somewhat exuberant in her welcome, despite all her resolutions to be present a calm and collected response. Luckily the over-effusive greeting was hidden in the general excitement of the troops as now that the patrol was back, preparations for Hogswatch could begin.

Having seen Mal safely returned to the fold Polly had foolishly assumed that that would be the end of it. The wretchedness she'd been suffering was obviously merely the outward expression of a natural worry for a friend out in terrible conditions. But the unsettled feeling had remained. The scent of coffee might be filling Polly's office again but uncertainty filled her mind. She should be happy; didn't she have everything she wanted now that the annoying presence of a vampire was once again weaving its familiar interruptions through her day? But ever since the triumphal return Polly had found herself searching out opportunities to watch Mal about her normal business. As though she needed to remind herself of what the vampire looked like. _As if anyone could forget that face..._

“Morning, Perks.”

Polly jerked upright as a familiar voice interrupted her in the middle of a complicated thought involving the delicate features currently hidden behind snow-dampened tendrils of black hair. Luckily the cold temperatures disguised the tell-tale blush and neither Finchley or the accompanying Goldhawk noticed anything amiss. Covering her discomfort she greeted them cheerfully enough, a small corner of her mind glad of the distraction. After the customary banter they settled in beside her, easy smiles breaking out despite the cold weather.

”What's brought you out here then?” Glancing over the wall Finchley blinked at the resplendent sight thus displayed. “Ooh, _Fatti-guews_. Did der widdle vampire get on nasty Sergeant Kettering's last nerve again?”

Their voices must have drifted down to the theatre below because Mal straightened, performed a perfect about-turn and came to attention, upending the shovel over her shoulder like a pike as she saluted crisply.

“The old rascal's in the infirmary, malingering.” Goldhawk returned the corporal's salute politely. “I do however, recall that the Lieutenant's toupee was somewhat misaligned this morning.”

“I told him.” Polly shook a sorrowful head. “I said, clear as day: _'the lieutenant's shiny new cap, tempting though it is, is not carte blanche for you to start flinging snowballs hither and yon.'_ But did he listen? Did he heck-as-like.” The shovel-wielding crystalline-precipitation-chucker shrugged unrepentant shoulders. “A prime rollicking, two days fatigues and a reminder that he should thank his lucky stars he's not missing the party tonight.”

An array of disapproving looks were cast down to the accused below. Mal responded by ignoring them completely and returning to her task. They settled more comfortably against the wall.

“The hall looks nice.”

“Oh?”

Polly managed to turn her head to acknowledge Finchley's remarks but her gaze was inexorably dragged back to the activity going on in the square below.

“Yeah, we just came from there; van Hoeffler is doing a great job with the decorations. He's got Turner up a ladder nailing the branches along the eaves.”

All three took a moment to watch the hard-working activity that continued methodically below.

“Do you reckon he'll be finished in time?” Finchley asked the question without his usual relish.

He was overheard.

“I've only got to do this bit and then along by the kitchens.”

They all looked at the so far undisturbed remains of “this bit”, the virgin snow stretching unbroken from one side of the parade ground to the other.

“You might want to hurry it up a bit.” The look Finchley received for his pains could have melted the remaining snow with enough left over to heat the castle for a week.

Industrious silence reigned for precisely one minute and 48 seconds.

“You missed a bit.” Goldhawk graciously forbore to comment further as Mal snarled under her breath and turned back to clear the minuscule spot of snow he had indicated.

Watching as Mal doggedly returned to the fray Finchley distributed his height more comfortably against the parapet and began to mull over his collection of gentle insults that could safely be dropped into the square below. The afternoon stretched before them, filled with nothing vital that had to be done and the trio looked forward to a pleasurable hour or so of helpfully assessing the standard of work and offering advice as and when required.

Unfortunately their delicious plans were doomed to failure.

“Excuse me, Sergeant Perks.” Polly turned to find Ganzfield apologetically at her elbow. “I'm sorry Ma'am but we really need to go over the invoices before this afternoon, I'm having to pay for some of the deliveries up front.”

She nodded and watched him scurry away, his files securely held under one arm. As he vanished from sight she sighed, turning back to the figure busily flinging snow up into the air.

“I have to go to work now.” She had pitched her voice to reach down into the courtyard but Mal gave no sign that she had heard. Polly continued non-the-less, having been lectured on the superiority of vampire hearing on too many occasions to believe in sudden deafness on the part of the corporal. “My office needs me. My lovely warm office with its glowing grate filled with nice hot coals.”

Mal might have winced, it was difficult to tell.

“I must away,” Polly flung out a dramatic arm. “There are demands on my attention, work that I am paid for, work that brings me the admiration of the lower ranks. Work that is incidentally totally unlike manual labour”.

Mal made a face at her shovel.

“I might play some records.”

“ _I might play some records..._ ” Mal's muttered imitation of Polly was excellent and completely wasted on the shovel.

“Finchley might even pop round to teach me new dance steps for tonight.”

That got a quick pained glance over one shoulder, Mal throwing the snow in the direction of her neat pile with unneeded violence.

“And don't forget you're supposed to be escorting me this evening. I'm not walking into that bear pit unaccompanied.”

“I know.” Mal planted her shovel and straightened to push back unruly locks of damp hair. It was a gentler smile than was usually seen on that sharp face as she craned her neck to meet Polly's eyes. “I shall, as always, endeavour to satisfy you M'lady.”

Polly felt that inexplicable ache again, right under her rib cage but managed to smile back. The moment stretched a little too long before Mal's smile slipped into ruefulness and she stepped back to give a bow and a flourish.

In the quiet they heard the clock strike the quarter, the chimes rising up through the clear air.

“I have to go.”

But Polly didn't want to, confused by a desire never to leave that moment, the longing tinged with a fluttering urgency regarding the evening that was coming closer every minute, a new tension building, making it difficult to breathe.

“It's OK, Pol. Go, work, be busy and officious.” Mal waved an all-encompassing hand. “I'll swing by the office when I'm done and you can braid the flowers in my hair for the ball then.”

Finchley snorted at the image that produced and the tension shattered into a million pieces that melted away in the weak sun. Relieved, though also for some reason feeling a little bereft Polly sketched a rough salute and, following a quick goodbye to the lads, she traipsed back inside to where her ledgers waited. The two left behind remained leaning over the wall looking forward to a full afternoon of offering advice, but their called advice was getting little response and even they noticed more urgency in the lazy movements below.

The sun had long disappeared behind the mountains and the last of the colour was leaching out of the sky when Polly was interrupted in her preparations by a long awaited knock at the door. Responding to her quiet “come in” Mal slipped through the heavy door and closed it softly behind her. The amusing conversational opener died on her lips as she took in the vision before her. Having been worriedly waiting for the first response to the effects of her efforts Polly was inexplicably pleased at the look on her face.

It had taken a while to get all the creases out of her best coat and Polly had attempted the cravat at least fifteen times before it was anything approaching acceptable. Her boots she had shined until she could see her face in them and despite the fact it was a broken representation due to the many cracks, she thought they looked very nice indeed. Finally she had washed her hair specially in some of Shufti's more treasured gifts and it felt very light and free and distracting as she bent her head to squint at where she was attempting to mediate the disputed interaction between collar and cravat.

“Let me.”

Mal stepped forward, fingers gentle as she made those vital tiny adjustments that every well-dressed vampire could do instinctively. One final tweak and she stepped back to view her handiwork. There was a long silence while Polly's tension levels increased to almost unbearable levels.

“Well?”

“You left your hair down.”

“It is a party, Mal. A smidgeon of effort is usually required.”

Mal had obviously not found time to do much more than find a clean shirt and run a wet rag over her boots. Standing there with her jacket half undone she looked rakish and debonair and simply perfect and Polly wouldn't have wanted her any different.

“It's beautiful. It shimmers in the candle-light like millions of tiny stars.”

The compliment, coming as it did out of the blue, caught Polly up short and she blinked, pulling a strand of hair forward into view so that she could assess this effect. It just looked yellow to her but as she dropped the strands Polly became aware that Mal hadn't taken more than the original step back and was still somewhat too close for comfort. Polly cleared her throat.

“Would you help me with the pin?”

“Pin?”

Mal took possession of the tiny box cautiously as though it might explode. Opened, the box revealed the glossy lacquer of what someone at high command had obviously though fitting for young women to wear. Mal frowned for a moment in confusion and then as Polly watched the memories stirred and cleared.

“You still wear this?”

“I won it fair and square; I don't see why we shouldn't wear them. Besides it keeps my collar from slipping.”

Her practicality made Mal smile as she picked the minuscule pin from its velvet cushion. Bending her head the vampire squinted at the smidgeon of collar available to site the jewel. Polly, wishing to help, tilted her head to allow more light on the difficult procedure, only later realising that this exposed rather more of her neck than one usually offered to a vampire. Luckily before she could begin to panic about Mal's ability to resist temptation the job was done and Mal's hand was at cupping her cheek as she encouraged her to stand straight again.

“Hold on a tick, Pol. Let me see?”

Polly froze, the weight of Mal's hand on her shoulder holding her still a comforting anchor to counterbalance the light fingers along her jawline.

“We should have written to Clogston about getting you something for the Ankh Morpork Fiasco. Another one on the other side would balance you out perfectly.”

Mal was smiling, the laughter lights dancing in those soft dark eyes and despite the delights waiting them in the Great Hall Polly wanted nothing more than that the moment would last, Mal's perfectly proportioned nose only centimetres from her own. But the candles flickered in an unseen draft and Mal's amusement died with them on a caught breath. She stepped back, emphasising the distance between them and ran her hand disjointedly through already adequately dishevelled hair.

“We should go.”

Mal may have been shaken, but her gait as she moved over to open the door was steady enough.

“We should.”

Polly wasn't sure what had just happened, but she held onto what had previously worked and that meant not commenting and moving on. She gave the vampire a few seconds while she collected up the last of her personal effects and when she shot Mal a quick searching glance before taking the arm offered her corporal presented nothing but the most calm demeanour. Thus, arm in arm in perfect harmony (if a little shaken underneath the masks) both went down to celebrate Hogswatch Eve in style.

The Great Hall was crowded and lively. It seemed as though all the townsfolk had walked up, slipping and sliding over the ice in all their finery, to swell the ranks. Smartly turned out Border Boys bowed low as they requested the hands of delicate (and in some cases not so delicate) maidens and dotted here and there the officers promenaded pompously with willing matrons. The young lads from the town huddled in dark corners, grumbling quietly about the unfair effects of a uniform on the female brain but tempers were eased when they got the chance to get their own back as the small band struck up a local air. There was plenty to eat and more than plenty to drink, the Fort doing its best to buy the goodwill of the town for the rest of the year.

Polly danced with anyone who asked, the music drawing her back to the floor whenever she took a break for air or refreshment. She danced with Turner (carefully polite), with Barnett (struggling to lead after his many lessons in the arms of Corporal Finchley), with various lads from the village and of course with Finchley himself. Mal didn't dance though there were any number of opportunities for her to do so. It amused Polly immensely to see the village wenches queuing up for her hand, obviously much enamoured of the corporal's carefully crafted dishevelled style. But despite Polly's laughing encouragement (and some barefaced jealousy from some of the lads) Mal refused to entertain any of the beckoning glances thrown her way.

Spinning around the floor with one happy partner after another, Polly did try to keep in touch with that reserved figure sticking to the sidelines but to no avail. Yet again and again, as at the smaller dance in the guard room, she kept feeling those eyes on her across the room. And every time she slumped into a nearby chair struggling to catch enough of her breath to force out a solicitous enquiry Mal smiled, supped delicately from the small glass of port she held steadily in one hand at all times, and said nothing.

It was in one of those aggravating moments of peace that Polly lost patience and was about to demand a little more participation when Mal put a silencing hand on her arm and indicated the podium where the band were just coming to the end of a local air. The crowd applauded politely and then watched patiently while the musicians shuffled the scores on their music stands and went into a small huddle. Polly leant in to whisper an enquiry but Mal only shook her head and kept her eyes on the small stage. As the huddle broke up and the musicians took their places again Polly found herself leaning forward in anticipation.

There was a chord and then silence. A singer stepped forward and took a breath.

>  _“There may be trouble ahead...”_ [6]

The band picked up the melody and they were off, the couples quickly finding the new beat to their liking. Polly turned to Mal, a puzzled frown creasing her forehead.

“Isn't that...?”

It was at this auspicious moment that Goldhawk, who had been walking in a stately fashion around the room with his hands folded behind his back, arrived at their quiet little corner. He bowed low.

“Miss Perks.”

“Mr Goldhawk.” Putting her question aside for a better time Polly struggled to fight the giggle that had bubbled up uncontrollably all night every time someone made this introduction.

“Would you do me the great honour of allowing me the pleasure of this dance?”

“I believe it is you that do me the honour, sir.”

He bowed again and she stood up from her chair to give him a curtsey in exchange. He offered an arm and feeling very much the lady she laid a delicate hand on it. But for some reason Goldhawk didn't immediately lead her away. Polly waited, unwilling to commit the faux pas of tugging her partner onto the floor, especially when her escort had access to so many sharp implements.

“You have my gratitude, Mister Maladict.”

Polly swung a sharp glance at the assassin and then switched her gaze to where Mal sat so nonchalantly. The undercurrent of tension grew stronger as the silence lengthened and her eyes flicked from one protagonist to another. Then she watched in incomprehension as the vampire at last unfolded her length to return Goldhawk's nod with a gracious one of her own.

“Any time, Mister Goldhawk.” Mal murmured.

Was Polly imagining the thread of irritation running through those polite words?

She didn't have much time to ponder the odd exchange however as with the niceties over Goldhawk was leading her off into the throng. Dragging her feet as the singer was crooned something about fiddlers fleeing and bills to pay, Polly looked back over her shoulder and caught Mal throwing off the last of her wine. She lost sight of the corporal then but before her view was completely obscured it looked like had Mal turned on her heel and stalked away.

“Miss Perks?”

Distracted by her churning thoughts Polly had bumped into the now stationary Goldhawk who held out his hands in a gentle reminder her of her responsibilities. Allowing him to take her in hold she half frowned at the glitter of amusement in his eyes.

“What are you and Mal up to?” she demanded.

“Separately, or together?”

He answered the penetrating look she gave him in response to that with a calm and inscrutable smile. Once again indicating the band with a tilt of the head he urged her into movement and they at last began to dance. The crooner was taking a well-deserved break, swigging enthusiastically from a friendly bottle as the band and the song continued on without him.

“I wish you wouldn't wind him up.”

They were coming up on a group of youths and Polly paused for a moment to concentrate on following her partner's lead as he steered her through the confusion. Once past however, she returned to her point.

“An Assassin should know better. And it's not remotely fair considering you _know_ he's had something on his mind ever since he came back from that blasted patrol.”

“Has he really?”

Glancing up Polly frowned at Goldhawk's quizzical eyebrow as they rotated on the spot, his dapper feet guiding her around in perfect circles before returning them to their stately progress around the room. It was a delicate manoeuvre but the lady involved refused to be distracted, even by such high quality of dancing. She continued with her conversational thread.

“I've been trying to get to the bottom of what's been eating him, but he's not co-operating. Has he said anything to you?”

“Not in as many words, no.”

He smiled down at her in a paternal fashion and Polly strongly considered kicking him in the shins. But there were all those secreted implements to bear in mind. She took the more diplomatic route.

“I don't think you should laugh at your partner, not actually during the dance anyway. It's not the best of gentlemanly behaviour.”

He opened his mouth to refute her accusation but before he could produce a word Polly stated that she was hereby refusing to talk about it any more. They danced on in silence. Left alone to her thoughts Polly found the words unconsciously rising to her lips as the band swung into the chorus.

>  _“...So while there's moonlight and music,  
>  And love and romance...”_

Polly stopped abruptly bringing Goldhawk to a stuttering halt. Uncomplainingly he waited patiently for an explanation, shielding her from the other dances with a hint of surprise in his eyes. She apologised while the the crooner took advantages of the last line that were illegal in three shires.

“Would you excuse me? There's something I have to do.”

“Of course.” Goldhawk looked over her head at the far corner and added “He's over by the punch bowl at the moment. I would seize the moment if I were you.”

“I will.” She blushed suddenly. “I'm sorry.”

Goldhawk smiled his forgiveness, bowed low over her hand and let her go.

Polly found Mal making friends with the punchbowl. The buffet was quiet, most couples either taking a turn on the floor or otherwise occupied in quiet corners. Despite the hunched shoulder indicating Mal knew she had company there was no acknowledgement of Polly's presence from either the vampire or the punchbowl. Mal kept her back turned. Sensing a smidgeon of tension Polly settled against the buffet table as though she had all the time in the world and watched as the corporal placed the ladle at the precisely perfect angle in the bowl before turning her attention to lining up the remaining glasses.

“Mal, I don't want to be an annoyance.”

“You're not.”

The vampire turned at that, attempting to pull a reassuring smile over an expression worryingly closed and wary.

“What were you going to say before Goldhawk came over?”

“Nothing.”

Mal's gaze slunk away to her shiny top-boots while traitorous fingers picked at a fragment of uneven stitching in the table cloth.

Polly let her gaze drift back to the interweaving tapestry of dancers. Goldhawk had retreated to a clear area of wall where he was leaning, his attention apparently completely on the entertainment. However, as though feeling her gaze he looked over and gave Polly an encouraging nod. Her courage growing she laid a gentle hand over those scrabbling fingers. They stilled under her touch.

“Not wanting to press the point, but you do seem a little on edge.”

“Never.”

Mal calmly withdrew her hand and reached instead for her wine glass. Taking a sip she savoured the flavour before adding:

“Vampires are suave and at ease in every situation.”

“Nevertheless”.

Polly heaved herself off the buffet table and manoeuvred herself round until she was facing the vampire again. Placing a light hand on Mal's perfectly creased jacket sleeve she asked:

“Did you ask them to play this song? Did you teach it to them?”

Muscles tensed under her hand. Mal, avoiding her eye glanced over her shoulder and winced at the heaving crowd that filled the room from wall to wall.

“Could we get some fresh air?”

Hardly waiting for permission, Mal had already started to move and Polly had to hurry to keep up. Following as close as she could she hung on as the vampire pushed through the door and out into the cool and quiet of the outer hall. But despite the quiet without compared to the bustle within, the vestibule was full of couples, every alcove occupied and every small corner brimming with intent youths attempting to get some privacy. Mal kept going, sweeping across the tiled expanse to drag open one of the large doors to the courtyard. She halted on the threshold as the freezing air swept in.

“Bugger me!”

Polly shivered violently. Folding her arms over her chest she swayed a little as the crisp air did something unpleasant to her ability to focus. She really shouldn't have had that last glance of punch.

Mal slammed the door shut again and swore under her breath as she turned back to the cluttered vestibule. It hadn't got any better since they last examined it.

“I'll get my coat.”

Despite the dawning realisation that she was a little drunk, Polly realised this was one of the times that the vampire needed her quiet support and a definite lack of questions.

Mal kept step with her on that long silent walk along the quiet corridors to the supply office. It was a shame to cover up those long ago efforts in the field of high couture but Polly knew how cold the nights could be out here on the edge of the world and so didn't jibe in the face of scarf, hat and gloves. While she made sure she had gathered all the vital equipment Mal merely grabbed her own greatcoat from behind the door and slipped into it. But, though ready in seconds, the corporal waited patiently to help Polly with the more fiddly buttons.

Dragging open the main door for the second time the cold still struck a heavy blow but this time Polly just ducked her head and kept going. The quad was deserted, only a minimal number of guards were posted and the snow that had drifted back over the large flagstones during the dance was unmarked by any footprints. Mal who so far had seemed to know exactly where she was going suddenly stopped, uncertain. Left to her own devices the Polly craned her neck to pick out the guards on the outer walls. She let her head drop back and stunned by the number of stars visible she pointed vaguely upward as with only the slightest slur in her voice she murmured _“pretty...”_

Mal glanced over, saw what she was doing and followed the pointed finger up into the infinite sky. The view appeared to inspire her and she reached up to grab Polly's wavering hand, dragging her off in the direction of the central tower. As she followed willingly across the courtyard Polly looked up at their destination and noted that the usual sparks of light from the guards lanterns were missing.

“They're only on the outer walls tonight.” Mal had seen where she was looking and answered the unspoken question. “We'll have it to ourselves.”

She paused at the base of the tower, her hand on the door as though asking Polly permission to take this step. But it was only a tower and the stairs in this one were wide enough for the sergeant not to worry about navigating even in her slightly inebriated condition. Besides she wasn't drunk, just a little tipsy, Goldhawk's punch merely smoothing the edges of life and feeding the little voice inside that encouraged her to keep going and see where this ended up.

They climbed in silence, Polly following Mal's sure-footed ascent, and just when the sergeant was starting to get a little bit bored with stairs that went round and round but never seemed to get anywhere they emerged through the small door onto the lower roof. Up here the stars were almost close enough to touch and Polly, un-noticed behind Mal's back, reached out as though to grab at the bright sparks dangling overhead.

Having got Polly up here Mal seemed to have no plan for what to do next. As the sergeant wandered from side to side, murmuring quietly to herself at what she could see below Mal was satisfied to merely watch her perambulations while rolling the inevitable cigarette. Turning round Polly caught that gaze on her and smiled encouragingly, settling with her back against the low wall that prevented the unsteady from stumbling into the courtyard below. Whether it was the smile, or mere curiosity she couldn't say but the corporal pushed herself away from where she'd been leaning beside the door and wandered over the roof to take a place at her side. She lit the cigarette. They stood in silence, watching the guards on the Rimwards wall share a joke before moving off on their designated patrol routes.

The minute hand on the clock above the Great Hall swung ponderously up to the vertical and the noise from the dance rose to a new peak as the chimes rang out into the crisp air. It was midnight. Polly nudged the stiff shoulder next to hers.

“Happy Hogswatch, Mal.”

“Happy Hogswatch, Polly.”

Mal turned around and brushed away the snow on the parapet so she could lean more comfortably on her elbows, cigarette in hand. Voices drifted up from below, and turning round also and looking down Polly could see recognisable figures stumbling out into the snow, backlit from the bright hall. But her gaze was drawn out and up, to the mountains promising great things for the future. Buoyed up on a gentle fuzz of alcohol Polly found herself humming under her breath but recognising the tune she stopped short, the blush rising to her cheeks despite the cold air. Mal moved uncomfortably, elbows shifting on the wall. Suddenly it seemed she had come to a decision and she stood up bracing herself with locked arms on the parapet. She abruptly stubbed out the cigarette in the snow and turning to Polly asked, as though determined to get the words out before she changed her mind.

“Would you dance with me?”

It wasn’t the question Polly had anticipated, expecting some request perhaps to stop humming that infernal song. She stood open mouthed. Mal, gentleman to the last, reiterated the question with a greater degree of politeness.

“Would you do me the great honour of allowing me the pleasure of this dance?”

Polly smiled, as Mal unconsciously echoed Goldhawk's approach. Breeding did tell after-all. Even when standing in ankle deep snow. Yet even as she enjoyed the moment her corporal indicated with the most delicate bow that the aforementioned dancing partner was still waiting. Mal was the epitome of calm but for some reason the hand she held out trembled in the clear air. It was the uncertainty that caught Polly’s heart. Vampires weren’t meant to be unsure. They were cold and supercilious to the core, not vulnerable or hesitant, standing there hopeful but desperately afraid of rejection.

Polly thought about uncertainty, remembering a stolen glimpse of lonely eyes, a sheepish vampire hands in pockets hovering outside her half opened door waiting for her to finish her paperwork. A wrinkled nose produced when deep in thought, hair usually so pristine mussed in frustration and a mischievous grin that could break out at a minutes notice over a serious face. About disappointment shielded behind dry wit, an ever present coffee addiction, and a little smile without agenda that snuck out sometimes for Polly and Polly alone. Freely, without any anticipation of second thoughts, she placed her life in that outstretched hand.

Disappointingly the actual details of the dance were uncomfortable and awkward. Bulked up in big coats they could only stumble like around in clumsy circles like great bears and Polly's heart ached desperately, knowing this couldn’t have been what Mal had wanted. But when the vampire halted suddenly causing Polly to bump into her she looked up into sparkling dark eyes that held just a hint of mischief. Mal, it appeared, had had an idea. The reassuring smile Polly remembered all too well from previous “great ideas” broke out over that mobile face as Mal uttered the fateful lines.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” There had never been any resisting that.

Mal let go of her hands for a moment to shrug out of her greatcoat and Polly wondered again why the vampire never wore gloves or any of the other accoutrements necessary for warmth in this climate. But her train of thought was brought shuddering to a halt as Mal began to remove the glove from her left hand. It was 10 below up here on the tower and Polly naturally pulled back, wondering what trick this was. But Mal merely held on as the gloved hand jerked in hers and repeated the earlier challenge.

“Do you trust me?”

And of course she did. It was only a glove; her fingers wouldn’t fall off in the next five minutes, surely.

Bare hand in bare hand they stood there under the stars. Polly, her breath streaming out in visible evidence of the temperature stretched her fingers in the firm cool grasp, marvelling at the warmth flowing through them and up into her arm.

Mal removed the other glove, carefully maintaining at all times a connection of skin to skin. Reaching up to lift off that old contentious hat, the corporal must have forgotten she still had Polly’s hand captured safely in one hand as she trailed the back of the other down a cold cheek, her fingers sliding gently over the contours of her face. A light touch drifted up to her forehead and then back around her ear, tucking away the merest strand of hair.

“You should wear your hair down more often, it suits you.” Mal smiled and traced the line of her eyebrow before finally allowing her hand to drop away.

 _It must be to keep the magic working_ , reasoned Polly, finding a moment to think as Mal stood before her, both hands captured, a considering look on her face.

It was the scarf, Polly realised suddenly. It was going to need two hands and was thus creating a mild hiccup in the carefully thought out plan of action. Mal eventually solved the problem by releasing Polly's hands for a brief second to loosen the coils, before lifting it gently over her head with a spare hand.

After that, not even the difficult buttons on Polly’s overcoat could put up much resistance. Left handed (her other hand seemingly now permanently connected to Polly’s) Mal released them slowly, one by one, Polly’s breath catching as the last one refused to cooperate for a moment before falling to those dexterous fingers. She turned slowly, allowing the coat to be lifted away and then found herself, having reached the terminus of her slow spin, captured once again in those slim hands. Mal met her smile with a soft one of her own and whispering: “shall we?” led her once again into the simple steps.

It was easier this time. Without the coats between them Polly found she fit perfectly into her partner’s graceful hold and the music drifted up from below to guide their steps while the pinpricks of stars overhead twinkled brighter than the most expensive chandeliers. It was a moment out of time. Nothing existed but the cool hand in Polly's and the guiding pressure in the small of her back. They moved together, watched over only by the guarding mountains and Polly would never be able to say when exactly Mal brought her that last few inches closer, folding their clasped hands under her chin.

This was the only place in the world Polly wanted to be, pressed up against this young woman, nowhere not touching, as they swayed together under the stars. Her own hand slid without conscious decision to rest in the small of Mal’s back as she lowered her head onto a firm shoulder and inhaling the mingled scents of coffee and tobacco she wished she could capture the moment for ever. It was in this state of mind that she felt rather than saw Mal’s movement and instinctively lifted her head so that it was her lips that received the kiss rather than Mal’s intended target.

It was the merest smidgeon of contact, just a light brush of lips and as the connection broke Polly could feel the whipcord tension in the body pressed against hers. While her thoughts might be spinning in an attempt to clarify what exactly had just happened, Mal seemed well in control of the situation and cautiously holding herself in check. A large part of Polly's mind screamed at her to ignore this, to concentrate instead on how good that had felt and what exactly one needed to do to induce it to happen again.

The solution was provided for her as Mal bent her head again and having already had one run at the experience Polly slipped urgent fingers up over those tense shoulders to twine them through those tempting strands of short dark hair as she had long wanted to do. Responding to this affront on her dignity with a distressed sound, the vampire's hands which were had been hovering in civilised manner at Polly's waist suddenly tightened, pulling the sergeant closer with unconscious need. There were parts of Mal colliding with parts of Polly in all sorts of interesting ways and she was afraid she may have moaned.

Mal froze.

Unafraid Polly waited, held close in those encircling arms. She was at the top of an exposed tower on a freezing hogswatch night but her forehead was resting quietly against Mal's neck and she couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be.

“Polly.”

As Mal gently called her name, the soft tones couldn't help but remind Polly of the time she'd first heard them, rousing her from sleep in the pre-dawn light of that very first autumn patrol.

She had never told Mal that she'd heard her, or that she'd felt the gentle touch of chill fingers against her cheek. But the vague memory of that tender voice reaching down into her dreams had persisted despite all Polly's sensible intentions, cropping up every now and then to invade the drowsy drifting moments as she hung on the edge of sleep cocooned in enfolding blankets. At these times, when her ability to resist temptation was lowered by encroaching slumber, Polly would have to admit that occasionally she did allow her replaying of the situation to continue beyond the bounds of historical accuracy.

That whole patrol had been something out of the ordinary, the balmy autumn days providing a series of perfect moments one after another and Polly felt her lips curl into a smile against a protruding collarbone at the memory.

“Polly.” The call was repeated a little louder but again went ignored, Polly currently finding Mal's neck much more fascinating, clumsily exploring the smooth skin that lay cool under her warm lips.

True enough there were other areas of potential interest, but Polly wasn't fussy, especially when flying high on one too many glasses of punch. The neck was what she was offered so the neck was what she would take. Besides, if Mal was going to invade Polly's office and curl up on her hearth, head tilted to one side as she serenaded her precious gramophone then she couldn't blame Polly for taking the opportunity to investigate the area in question when such occasion arose. Her explorations passed unwittingly over a pulse point and she felt the explosion of heat as the vampire flushed and jerked under her touch.

“Polly.” Mal allowed a warning tone to slip into her voice.

Polly obediently stopped exploring and let herself just lean against that familiar chest. Mal was solidity to rest against in a whirling world, the encircling arms keeping her safe. The army had turned out all-right in the end but sometimes it was heaven to stop having to be everything Borogravia wanted from her, to step aside from being Sergeant Perks for a minute and just be. She blinked and lifted her head to see Mal's eyes darker than usual against the star pricked sky. It was funny, that face was so familiar, the planes and shadows as well known to her as the sword calluses on her own hands. It seemed idiotic that Polly hadn't been able to read the incredible truth hidden there until tonight.

It was while she was processing this that she saw the view. The tower lay all of ten feet below them, darkly silhouetted against the lights that were streaming out from the Great Hall in wide bars across the drifting snow.

Adrenaline is a great introducer of reality and the real world swung back into prominence as Polly grabbed on to Mal for an entirely different reason, her fear driving the need not to be separated from the tense body under her hands.

“If you drop me!”

But Mal didn’t produce the laugh Polly had expected, the vampire silent as she concentrated on guiding them down. Landing them both safely she took an immediate step back. Polly reached for her, smiling, but a second retreating step penetrated the fuzz of punch surrounding her brain and she stopped in confusion. The after effects of the drink were fuddling her thoughts and the wind struck cold now that Mal was no longer maintaining the contact between them. She shivered and reached out for that slim hand again, needing to reassure her companion that things were ok.

“Leave it, Pol.”

Mal turned away, searching out and collecting up the various warm winter woollies they had discarded so heedlessly. Holding out the coat for Polly to put on she continued to refrain from smiling, silent still as she handed over the other accoutrements whilst managing to maintain a generous distance between them.

“Why?” The small voice was trying so hard not to show hurt and Mal paused, unable to meet Polly's eyes.

There was only the hat left to put on and as Mal stepped in and slipped the hat over blond curls she lightly kissed the forehead between her hands.

“You’re drunk. A gentleman never takes advantage of a lady not in full control of her actions. I couldn’t.”

Polly attempted to protest but Mal wasn’t paying attention, her eyes lifted to the guarding mountains that encircled them. Responding to Polly's hand on her sleeve she dragged her gaze back from the lofty peaks but still seemed unable to meet the sergeant's eyes. Staring at her feet instead she appeared to struggle to find the words she needed.

Polly waited and eventually Mal sighed and lifted her eyes. Forgiving blue met apologetic black and below them the clock struck the quarter. Mal waited for the mocking echoes to fade before she at last spoke.

“I should have said something before Pol, I'm sorry. But I thought I wouldn't have to, I thought we could avoid this whole embarrassing scenario. I swear to you, I never meant it to come to this.”

She straightened the links of Polly's scarf, tucking the ends in carefully to make sure not a single millimetre of skin was exposed to the cold. Nervous fingers flicked a piece of lint from Polly's shoulder before reaching down and capturing a willing hand in order to ensure there was no gap between cuff and woollen glove. It was displacement activity of the most obvious order, but it seemed to give Mal the courage to continue haltingly.

“You never knew, but I wanted you back then, back at the beginning. You were beautiful and smart and cheeky and young and so... so _tempting_ and I know it sounds stupid but I was lost from the first moment I saw you. Well, maybe the second.  But you weren't interested, you weren't that kind of girl and that was fair enough – I've never pushed.”

Polly opened her mouth to deny something, but Mal's up-flung hand stopped her.

“But I came to see there was more to Polly Perks than that cheeky over-cocky, over-clever brat with no idea of which fights weren't worth picking.  You were confusing and real and not always right but able to work out a way through anyway and I decided that if you wouldn't have me, so be it, I’d put my hand up to it and Maladict would be the best damn friend a girl ever had.” She smiled weakly. “It was a steep learning curve at times, but I stuck to it.” Her voice dropped and became more introspective.  “And as I got to know that Polly Perks I realised I'd do anything to keep her friendship.  Anything.”

Mal paused and took a deliberate step back, freeing her hand from Polly's and watching it drop away with quiet sadness, unmasked now and vulnerable in her openness. She took a steadying breath, drawing back up her defences.

“So now, as a friend, I'm advising you not to do this. Let it go, chalk it up to a stupid misunderstanding between two people too drunk to know better and allow it to fade away. Vampires like me are called abominations for a reason”. She moved away. “You’d best go down and get warm.”

“Mal.” The figure paused, the heavy door latch under her hand. “Please, don't go.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn't turn round. “Happy Hogswatch Polly”

Left alone on the tower Polly swore. Not for long (she still didn’t know that many words) but long enough to build up enough rage to kick the parapet. It hurt, reminding her of Mal's sardonic comments on the quality (or lack of it) of her boots. She paced up and down the small square of roof for a short while; consigning Mal to a number of unpleasant situations mainly involving sharpened wooden implements (a ladle entertained her for a good few minutes). But eventually the cold began to bite and as the frustration wore off a low sort of depression crept in to replace the burning heat of her rage. It wasn't everyday a vampire turned down your advances and she was definitely owed a bit of moping. However, as she slumped miserably against the parapet where it had all started she began to think. Really think.

It wasn’t hard to find holes in Mal’s idiotic conclusions. Polly remembered a conversation quietly shared in the middle of the night that time they'd had their first real argument (about thrall of all things). Mal, for all her quick brain, did have this birdbrained tendency to jump to the wrong conclusions from time to time. This was obviously one of those occasions when she needed a more sensible person to make the decisions for her. Even if those decisions involved tying the blessed imbecile to a chair and batting her around the head with a length of iron bar until she came to her senses.

Polly dwelt on that image for a long and exceedingly satisfying moment.

Really, when you got down to it, the whole thing was very simple. You couldn't not do something you'd already done, no matter how much somebody advised you it wasn't a good idea. Mal could talk until the cows came home about making the right decision, but there was no decision here to make. Polly had already decided.

As she looked out over the peaceful town a song rose to her lips and she smiled.

>  _“I couldn't say what made it so exciting...  
>  Why all at once my heart took flight..._
> 
>  _I only know when she  
>  Began to dance with me  
> I could have...” _[7]

 _However_ , Polly thought as she made her way carefully down the tower stairs, _she might have to get a little sneaky in order to get Mal to agree_.

[6] Let's Face The Music And Dance, Nat King Cole  
[7] I could have danced all night, written by Frederick Loewe and lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner

~X~

“Corporal Maladict?” The vampire looked up to see Ganzfield hovering in the doorway. She put down her coffee grinder and, at the signal of her attention, he continued, “Sergeant Perks would like you to drop by the office at your earliest convenience.” He paused. “Is there an answer?”

“Tell her,” Mal paused, fighting the clammy sensation suddenly twisting in her belly. “Tell her I'll be over this afternoon.” It was apparently time. Mal wiped suddenly damp hands on her breeches and tried to focus on the usually calming process of brewing coffee.

 _Damn._

~X~

Ganzfield was making a neat and succinct note in one of the many files currently piled up on the Supply Clerk's desk so he didn't see Polly look up swiftly at the tentative knock at her door. As he didn't immediately allow the noise to interrupt his careful underlining of a salient point he also missed the smile that flashed over her face as she caught a glimpse of a vampire hovering in the corridor, shoulders hunched, hands thrust deep into her pockets. He did however notice that she dismissed him with some abruptness and almost didn't wait until he was out of the door before acknowledging her visitor.

“Come in!”

Ganzfield should have taken his armful of files and gone back to his desk to immerse himself in the minutiae of maintenance payments on kitchen utensils. But the vampire he had passed in the corridor had looked more on edge than usual and, as Ganzfield didn't want to have to train another new boss, he hovered nervously in his office doorway instead. Thus it was he saw the vampire slouch into the room and come to a halt in the centre of the rug. Corporal Maladict did not salute.

“At ease Corporal.”

He heard Sergeant Perks push back her chair and she came into view as she rounded the desk to perch on the edge, legs extended, ankles crossed. Not until she was settled comfortably did she break the silence.

“I believe there is some unfinished business we need to address.”

Creeping forward down the corridor Ganzfield noticed that it looked like Polly was fighting some sort of facial twitch.

The pause so unkindly left languishing on the rug between the two occupants of the office lengthened until it became almost unbearable. Corporal Maladict seemed unable to lift his eyes from the pattern of the floor covering at his feet.

“I’ve not had a drink for three days.” Sergeant Perks hefted herself away from the desk, crossing her arms as she stepped forward, now within a foot of the vampire. “I think I would, by all methods of measurement, be considered sober.”

She glanced up and caught sight of Ganzfield as he stood ready to rush in and save her from insane undead vampire corporals. Frowning a detailed and threatening dismissal, she quickly crossed the floor and closed the door solidly in his face. With a sigh and a shake of the head, Ganzfield went back to his files.

~X~

Polly had returned to her desk and once again took up her perch.

“Now Corporal, I do believe there was a conversation that took place between us recently, where you alluded to a big decision I needed to mull over before making up my mind?”

“Yes Sergeant?”

Mal was employing the patented expression for use when facing a superior officer with a grievance and Polly was forced to bite the inside of her cheek in order to keep her equanimity. She persevered.

“Yes, Corporal. Now, it is my well-considered opinion that three days is quite long enough to spend in consideration of something so important.” She leant back on her knuckles. “Don’t you agree?”

Mal took a minute to consider her options and settled on a shrug.

Polly was still talking. “It may interest you to know, Corporal, that I’ve come to my decision.”

Before her, Mal held her breath, praying for the strength to bear the words in dignified silence.

“You are an unmitigated ass!”

At that Mal _did_ look up and blinking in confusion she was unprepared for what came next. Having dismounted from the desk Polly began to employ a series of painful pokes to the chest, each one a little more pointed to emphasise her statement.

“Corporal it is with great irritation that I have to inform you that you are a Dope! A Dufus! A veritable idiot of the first order!” Her sergeant drew breath.

At this point, Mal, employing that aggravating gift to dodge almost any attack took advantage of the second of warning to slip away and put a certain amount of distance (including the desk) between them. As Polly watched she reached the sanctuary of the window and taking refuge there, calmly flicked a smidgeon of dust from her cuff. Polly noted cheerfully that Mal's fingers had trembled. She smiled and attacked.

~X~

Polly was still advancing. Mal, caught in a corner, began to seriously consider clambering out through the window and scaling the outside wall.

“Gods-dammit Mal!”

The vampire attempted to dig herself out backward through the window pane with her shoulder-blades. Before her, Polly had rounded the desk and was coming on strong.

“I’m a woman in the army for goodness sake! I don’t even exist! You think any of your stupid reasons (including the fact that I might wreck my career over this – yes, I saw it on the tip of your tongue) will prevent me, from making up my own mind about the most annoying, rascally and impertinent vampire I ever met?”

Mal swallowed. She had forgotten what she was going to say. In all truth she had quite possibly forgotten the sequence of muscle movements that led to the production of the spoken word by use of a voice box and larynx.

Polly was waiting.

There are times when a gentleman, or at least an abomination attempting to follow the rules of behaviour of the upper set, should stand up for themselves against the tyranny of an overbearing bully. There are times when any sane being knows that they should step up and do the right thing. But Mal, remembering that even the most exalted persons had allowed discretion to be the better part of valour decided that on this occasion, despite incredible provocation there was nothing she could do but humour the lunatic before her.

She shrugged.

Polly, boldly taking the gesture as a sign of submission, moved in with purpose and thus began the second attempt to completely corrupt Corporal Maladict against her will.

“Are you sure?”

Mal found words at last, struggling to believe the reality of the woman now in her arms.

“No, you idiot.” Polly's attempt to soften her words with a smile were well received. “I'm not at all sure but I've wanted to for a long time and I've waited my three days and _now_ I am going to kiss you.”

After a small period of exploration, during which Mal found her hands dropping from where they were defensively holding back Polly's upper arms to slide supportively around her waist, they settled out into a comfortable position with Sergeant Perks's head resting without fear on the shoulder of a dangerous vampire.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Mal, tilting her head to bring that thoughtful face into view found Polly was touching her tongue to her bottom lip with a very odd expression on her face.

The vampire loosened her hold immediately. _Damn. Why had she assumed that an attempt au natural would have been acceptable?_ Cursing herself for not using even the smallest drop of glamour, Mal racked her brain for a way, any way to ease out of the difficult moment. _This was an unmitigated disaster. She would have to run away to sea and be a sailor. And she didn't even like boats..._

“Teeth.” Polly explained.

“Oh.” Overcome with relief Mal managed to hold back the laugh but couldn't quite banish the dancing devils that drifted back into her eyes. “Were you not expecting them?”

“Shameful brat.” Polly blushed. “You may well laugh. It appears I hadn't quite thought through the mechanics of the thing.”

“Ah.”

Mal settled herself more comfortably against the window embrasure ignoring the rough stone digging into her spine. A thought trickled into her mind that Polly could really look no better than at this very moment, peeping up through her lashes with the blush still lingering on her cheeks.

“Do they...?”

“Retract? Unfortunately, no.”

Mal let the smile linger, canines unashamedly on show. It was amusing to watch as Polly attempted to apply logic to the problem. Of course, with her many years of experience Mal had any number of solutions to suggest but Sergeant Perks had got herself into this mess, let the sergeant get herself out.

“Hmm.”

Polly lifted a hand to Mal's chin, turning the vampire's head this way and that as she examined her teeth for all as though she were a servant waiting in the market to be bought. Coming to a decision she nodded, a determined expression creeping over her face as she released her hold.

“Right.”

Polly ran a tongue over her lips and appeared to be preparing for another assault but Mal checked her momentarily, enquiring as to whether the sergeant was certain of her intent. Polly frowned.

“Of course I'm sure! Dammit Mal, apart from the minor teeth problem it's pretty damn well near exceeding expectations.”

 _“Oh.”_

Blast Polly, the incorrigible darling had the gall to grin up at her and attempt a wink. Holding her back Mal took a brief second to thank her lucky stars for what she was about to willingly receive.

“In that case...” her own wicked grin peeked out. “It's much less of a problem if you rotate in from the left.”

Polly, still apparently pondering the mechanics of the matter, looked up in surprise and Mal, ever willing to make good use of an unexpected attack, approved heartily of the position this left her in and took charge. It was a much better effort, Polly navigating around the obstructions as and when they cropped up and Mal doing her best to guide explorations away from potential problems. In fact the experience was only marred by the exceedingly unwelcome interruption of Ganzfield.

Luckily the protagonists sprang apart at the first sound of the door-handle turning and when Ganzfield was far enough through the door to see anything he found Polly shuffling idly through the untidy heap of papers on her desk while Mal appeared to have found something of great interest outside the window.

“Oh.” He paused uncertainly. “Excuse me Ma'am. I didn't know you were still indisposed.”

Polly blushed and delightedly watching the sergeant's reflection in the window Mal admired the effect this had on her dimples, the little dips emphasised by the deepening colour. Pulling herself together, Polly managed to produce something that passed as an intelligent enquiry into Ganzfield's needs.

“It's just the coal order Ma'am. I'll come back later. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

“No, no Ganzfield.” Mal had never been able to resist temptation. “The life of the Border Blues must go on.” She smiled tenderly into the worried eyes that flashed up to hers and began to drift across the room in the direction of the door. “My conversation with the sergeant can just as easily be continued at some other time.”

She forbore to wink, but Polly, worryingly easily able to read her mind blushed anyway. Again. Assuming correctly that the sergeant would be unable to find her voice in time Mal paused in the doorway and knowing she was out of sight behind Ganzfield had no problem with bowing gracefully and kissing her fingers to the dumbfounded Polly with a murmured “until later, m'dear”.

Sergeant Perks, dreamily tapping her teeth with her pencil while a vista of previously unimagined delights opened up before her, was brought back to a sense of her surroundings by the fifth enquiry from her clerk. Admonishing herself hurriedly Polly turned instead to the much more prosaic demands on her attention as summed up in the latest coal use figures.

~X~

Some time later, much later than Polly would have wished there came a soft knock at the door and a familiar untidy head appeared around the frame. Mal, slightly unsure of her welcome after prior events, was gifted with a smile that lit up the sergeant's whole face in the candle light and put aside all worries for the moment.

“Hey you.”

A fatuous remark Mal knew, but her usually sharp brain had unaccountably turned to mush. Polly, however, obviously thought it acceptable as she replied with an equally soft “hey.”

For a moment it was enough just for each to gaze on the other, seeing the familiar lines of expression anew with fresh knowledge as to the emotion that was hidden beneath each small smile or raised eyebrow.

“Are you coming in?”

“May I?”

Polly pushed back her chair and crossing the room briskly she dragged the vampire in, shutting the door behind her firmly. Before Mal could speak she found herself pushed up against said door and welcomed in a most thorough fashion. Polly was obviously not one to be backward in coming forward. But even through the haze, the prickles of Mal's conscience were still active.

“Polly...”

“What's worrying you, dearest?”

The endearment flared along Mal's nerve endings unknotting the tension in her stomach, but she couldn't completely give in. Not yet. Not until she was sure. Putting Polly away from her she moved to her accustomed position on the hearth, adding an extra log to the fire as the sergeant took her place in the armchair, dragging it closer. Finally settled to her satisfaction, though with her gaze still sliding away from those penetrating blue eyes, Mal confessed her fears about subconscious thrall.

Polly laughed. _She actually laughed!_

“You really think that you’re that powerful? You can’t even make me get you a coffee refill and we know that _that_ desire will always be stronger.” Leaning forward in the chair her hands cupped Mal's face, rocking the vampire from side to side gently. “C’mon Mal. We covered this. Look at me.”

Mal slowly lifted worried eyes and they were met by a reassuring smile.

“This is not some society débutante chasing the debonair vampire Maladict. This is me, Polly. For some idiotic reason best friend to Mal, a lowly corporal in the border guards (and most likely to stay that way despite all the advantages money can buy due to being somewhat of a snarky mischievous pain in the butt).”

She stroked back an unruly lock hair, tidying it away behind an ear where it belonged.

“Polly, a dumb sergeant who still wonders why it is this popular soldier puts time aside to teach her about the stars. Me, Mal. Polly Perks, Supply Clerk to the Army, whose day is repeatedly improved by the sight of a rascally vampire hanging around outside an office door in the vain hope of encouraging mischief.”

 _Polly, as she watched her words banish the fear from those expressive eyes couldn't help but think of the things left unsaid. Of the things that could not yet **be** said. Things like how special it felt to be the one who was lucky enough to catch the soft laughter Mal produced on rare occasion, so different from the more common sardonic bark. And how terrifying to find unexpectedly like a bolt from the blue that the way Mal smiled could melt a heart despite everything the vampire had tried over the past months to warn Polly away. She was out of her depth, lost in the woods, but damn it she was going to keep going anyway. _

“You didn't make me want this, Mal. I decided it off my own bat in the face of not inconsiderable opposition. Now, are you going to keep on with this nonsensical degradation of your character or are you going to shut up and kiss me?”

Mal had to admit she presented a good argument.

# Coda

  
Much, much later, after a respectable amount of time had elapsed[8], a small store-room in a hidden corner of the castle far up under the eaves (having recently acquired what looked like a hay mattress) gave host to an upstanding (if nervous) sergeant of the Border Blues and an exceedingly courteous vampire. Between them and the outside world lay a thick solid door (the key turned in the lock and checked and re checked by a certain sergeant with a perfectly understandable need for privacy). The host, reassuringly voluble as she led the way along maze like corridors, had vowed to lay down good money should anyone other than a insatiably curious vampire know that this room existed. Taking in the general air of cleanliness and the crackling fire in the small grate Mal looked around her at her handiwork and saw that it was good.

Polly, hovering by the door felt the tremors begin. Bluster was all very well and especially in the army could carry you far, but eventually one faced a situation where the metal - as it were – met the meat.

“Mal?”

The vampire turned to see a hesitant Polly, suddenly uncertain.

“Hey.”

Mal walked back to her softly, her footsteps quiet in the empty room. Approaching slowly, as one might a rare and timid mammal, she reached out a hand and waited. Taking a deep breath Polly put hers in it. Grasping those trembling fingers lightly Mal drew the young woman toward her and capturing her other hand stood in patient silence until blue eyes lifted to black. Deep in those depths desire fought a quick and dirty battle with trepidation and won.

Hunting for reassurance Mal felt the words of a much wiser soul drop into her mind. Walking backwards and towing Polly along with her, she smiled and said:

“You are my little lad, and I will look after _you_.”

 

[8] The definition of a respectable amount of time is left open for enterprising folk to determine as they will. A well brought up author would never dare to presume as to the proximity of the mind of an average reader to the gutter.

~X~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. cool. Finally! I think I'll leave it there for now. I will add the Intermezzo that follows a couple of months later (as all wet and cold commuters know, Winter doesn't end at Hogswatch) because it wouldn't really work as a start up to the second half, what with it being more plotty and less feelings. Not that there is anything wrong with feelings. Feelings are awesome. I've enjoyed writing all these feelings so far. Indeed I have.


	5. Intermezzo

~X~

  


# Intermezzo: during which the consumption of ices is permitted

  


  
“There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.” - George Santayana   


Bonk's main (and only) theatre was filled to capacity. Everyone desirous to see or be seen was here, with many Not-Quite-Important-Enough Persons still out in the lobby fighting over the last few tickets. Everywhere dowagers were nodding to young sprigs of fashion, young ladies fluttered fans in a babble of unspoken conversational temptations, and proper gentlemen of a certain age loosened over-tight trousers with sighs of discomfort. But though the draw of the performance had been legendary, not every seat was yet occupied. The most expensive box amongst the many that ran around the over decorated walls of the theatre was the last to fill as two slim figures slipped in through the heavy velvet curtain and dropped into their seats just as the orchestra began to tune up.

 _Trust them to be nearly late, bloody vampires and their finicky need for lengthy toilettes._ Slumping in her seat Polly ran a finger around a suddenly tight collar. There was no reason to be uncomfortable, the furniture in the box had all been designed by Hepplewhite and after a day bumping along in a stuffy coach the cushions of her chair should have brought her feelings of sitting on clouds. But the satin decorated box felt to her oppressive, the extensive gold trimmings overdone. She hated that they were on display up here in this extravagant perch, and would have been much more at home in the stalls below where she could see the last of the audience filing in like gaudy ants on their way to harvest a most refined cornfield.

Everyone seemed to have dressed up for the evening, men in the latest fashion of evening dress, women fluttering about wrapped in the best fabric money could buy. Straightening in her chair Polly pulled at the jacket of her dress uniform, in an attempt to make it lie more gracefully. The laundry at HQ had always over-starched, but as she’d never thought she’d wear it the dratted thing again after she was posted she’d not done anything about it, sticking it at the back of her wardrobe and letting it fade from memory. _Until now_. Sitting here, with the collar cutting into her neck, the faint scent of mothballs did nothing to help her poise.

It was Mal that had persuaded her that even though they were no longer _Cheesemongers_ , there was no reason why she couldn’t wear the red jacket with the gold braid. Actually, Mal had taken one look at Polly when she'd pulled on the royal blue _Border Guards_ jacket that she kept for best and had shaken her head vehemently. Reaching into the wardrobe the vampire had quickly found the red dress jacket and held it out to her instead saying,

“This one. The other is much too scruffy.”

 _She had been right of course. Polly had never bothered with the expense of ordering dress uniform for her new posting and after over half a year of wear both of her Border Guards jackets were showing signs of age. But that didn't mean she should have gone along with Mal's orders just like that._

Beside her Mal sprawled gracefully in the overstuffed chair, her evening dress a delectable concoction of understated sartorial magnificence against the rich velvet of the seat cushions. Polly frowned.

 _The blue of the Border Guards Dress Uniform wasn’t a bad colour and she’d thought she might even look good in it, but with no opportunity to wear it on the horizon she’d decided to save her money instead. Now she wished she’d blown sense to the wind and blown her pay packet on something smart. Then Mal wouldn't have been able to say that. Scruffy? Pfah._

Polly shifted uncomfortably in her chair again, the material of her new trousers stiff with lack of wear. She’d adamantly refused to wear the skirt they’d issued her with back at the keep and Mal, with amusement in her eyes, had merely dragged her into a tailors in the town, ordered someone to measure her for new breeches and then sent the details off on the Clacks to Bonk where a parcel containing a pair of beautifully cut cream dress trousers were waiting for them as they stepped down from the coach. It was only when she’d opened the parcel more thoroughly as they were hurriedly dressing that she’d noticed the thin red stripe down the outside of each leg.

“Red, Mal?” She’d swallowed the angry epithet. “I thought you were getting Border Blue? I’m not made of money, I can’t afford to splash out clothes I’m only going to wear once.”

Mal hadn’t even glanced up from where she was leaning into the dressing table, attempting to produce a perfect _Waterfall_ from her 3rd cravat. Wrapped up in the complicated interweaving of linen, she seeming hadn't been able to spare any attention for her companion.

“Look, Pol. I realise we’re not _Cheesemongers any more_. But face facts, it’s not like we’re going to be invited to any posh dinners as Border Boys is it?” She had drawn the fabric taunt, examined the result in the mirror and smiled at what she saw. “Besides, it goes with the jacket. And red suits you.”

Straightening, she had reached for the waistcoat hanging nearby. The garment had obviously been measured with great precision to fit like a glove and it was only when she had finished smoothing the silk lapels that she had noticed that Polly still hadn’t moved.

“Come on Pol.” She had reached out and clapped her on the shoulder. “Stop messing about and get dressed. We’re going to be late enough as it is.”

While she had scrambled into the trousers Mal had decided she should wear Polly had thought things. Many things. Was she allowed to get angry that the trousers were not what she had wanted? In fact, was she allowed to get angry about any of this?

 _Sitting there in the most sumptuous room she had ever had the opportunity to meet, Polly faced the questions again. They had appeared fairly recently, there had been no questions at the beginning. Well, obviously there had been questions. Questions about practicalities and the physics of the thing. But those had been very quickly answered and things had been wonderful. Occasionally surprising, but never less than wonderful. And now there were these new questions._

 _Everything seemed to have happened so fast. Which was good, she hurriedly offered in mitigation. Never say it wasn't good. Especially after the long months when nothing had happened at all. But there had been a Polly Perks before Mal had ever appeared on the scene and another Polly Perks (Sergeant) who had stopped a war without any vestige of vampiric distraction and those two Pollies were both getting a little tired of all this creeping around. They were getting quite vocal as well. “Either,” they said, “Mal likes us, or she does not.” “And the Mature thing to do,” they added, “would be to ask.”_

 _But the Polly currently in charge knew that such a question leaves one open to a wide range of answers. Of course, Mal was definitely interested in her and expressed this interest in a variety of educational ways. But she hadn't actually said... Mind you, when you came down to it, Polly hadn't actually said either... (somehow she hadn't quite felt it was the right moment during that first highly clarifying conversation and since then there hadn't been an opportunity to drop it into general conversation). In light of all this saying and not saying, discretion was currently trumpeting its status as the greater part of valour and large parts of Polly's brain (suffering horrendous embarrassment) were threatening to secede. “Did we not stand up to the diplomatic might of the Moldovians, they said?”_

 _“But still.”... whispered the quiet voice in the night. And so she had done nothing._

The house lights faded as the last discordant notes from the orchestra petered out and beside her Polly felt Mal sit forward, humming with a familiar tension. This balance of awareness and anticipation had become well-known to her over the past couple of months teaching her to walk lightly in preparation for the attack that was coming whether an explosion of action in the practice yard or in regard to other, more pleasant, pursuits.

She realised that with all the rush (and her own swamping thoughts) she hadn’t had time to ask how Mal felt about this. Turning to whisper her question she was halted in mid sentence by a strong grip that leapt onto her arm as Mal shushed her vehemently. The orchestra struck up with the overture and as the curtain had not risen and seemingly she was banned from making any sort of comment Polly turned to her programme instead for entertainment.

  


####    
**Bonk Civic Theatre is Proud to Present: The great Tiramisu’s  
Last Ever Performance!!!**   


  


  


~X~

The tickets had fallen out of the envelope into Mal’s hand, stiff pasteboard with shiny gilt edging. Cut short in the middle of her tirade against Sergeant Kettering and his obvious anti-vampire tendencies when it came to designing the duty rota she had stared in shock at the objects in her hand. Polly's attention had been caught by the sudden silence, and she had looked up from the intricacies of the Cabbage Import Documentation urgently demanded by Sto-Lat. Mal, staring at the tickets, had been caught by such surprise that she had let her mask slip for a moment, emotions chasing over her face in a flurry of half finished expressions. Unwilling to reveal that she had seen this, Polly had merely asked if the vampire had received bad news, knowing even as she did that that wasn’t it at all.

“It’s nothing.”

But Polly had caught a glimpse of something hidden in her eyes as Mal had turned away. She hadn’t pressed the matter, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that something had upset Mal. But something had upset the vampire and she was obviously not going to talk about it to her friend who happened to be currently in the room and available for conversation. If Mal couldn’t work out she was shutting Polly out, then Polly wasn’t going to be the one to enlighten her.

Then Mal had turned back, a determined look on her face as though she had made a major decision.

“They’re tickets.”

 _Well yes. Polly could see that._ She had nodded encouragingly.

“To the ballet.”

 _Really?_

“In Bonk.”

 _Oh._

Mal had paused then and a strange look had fluttered over her face. Memories tinged with sadness, Polly had guessed, and something else that the sergeant couldn't quite read. She'd thought she was getting better at Mal, but recently she'd not been so sure. Vampire expressions were, after all, well known for being impossible to decipher.

“She sent me tickets to her last performance.”

“Who?”

At that Mal had handed over the tickets for her to peruse. They were just as fancy up close, with delicate wording traced over exquisitely printed card. Polly hadn’t recognised the name and had said so.

“She was the greatest ballerina of her generation.”

Mal's eyes had lit up, enthusiasm driving her gestures.

“They said her ‘ _Princess-Who-Is-Also-A-Swan-Until-The-Idiot-Prince-Shoots-Her’_ had to be seen to be believed.”

Her voice had faded away into memories, and she had added absently,

“…Gods it was so long ago. I didn’t think she would remember.”

Polly had waited but apparently no more was forthcoming.

 _When they had been just friends, Mal had started to open the book of her past. Just the more amusing incidents usually, but there were times when she had let slip a little more and Polly had begun to get a picture of the shape of Mal's life before the league. Some things, of course, had never been mentioned and Polly hadn't pressed, thinking back then that there was time enough to hear about those times when Mal was ready . But now there was hardly any talking at all._

It would have been better to frame the question more politely but unfortunately there was no kind way to put it.

“Did you bite her?”

“No.” Mal’s face had broken into a reminiscent smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to, but when she danced… It was better than blood. And she was just a scrawny little mite back then.”

Her voice had trailed off again into the mists of recollection and Polly had wondered whether to nudge her on with the story. Truth be told, she hadn't actually been that interested in hearing any more details. But Mal had kept on talking.

“She used to send me tickets, she said it looked good to have a gentleman in the audience.”

Polly had thought they were wandering away from the point in question, that being the irrevocable fact of two tickets, now held securely in Mal's hand.

“How did she know where to find you?”

“Oh, we correspond from time to time.”

It had been a simple statement. Mal hadn’t even looked at Polly when she’d said it, one delicate finger following the gilt edging on the card. As though such a correspondence meant nothing.

Polly, fuming, had known she was being stupid, had known it would take a single simple question to clear up the misunderstanding. But as it was a question she hadn’t had the courage to ask for weeks now she said nothing. The not asking of it had eaten away inside her for the past weeks until she couldn’t even hear a simple “Hello” from her lover without wanting to bite her head off. _And wasn’t that a apt irony,_ she had thought, cursing herself once again as Mal had left to go about her usual nefarious business.

From that moment on it had all been travelling. A three-day-pass from the captain, a sleigh down to the edge of the snow-line, a fast (and excessively bumpy) coach back to PrinceMarmadukePiotreAlbertHansJosephBernhardtWilhelmsberg followed by an exceedingly fast post coach (the best seats Mal’s money could buy) to Bonk. No time for sightseeing however, just a quick wash and brush up in a small but delightfully located hotel before squeezing into the cobbled together outfit that was now causing her so much trouble. Mal had scorned her corporal's stripes for a ensemble that oozed expense through every seam with satin knee-breeches, a cream linen shirt with ruffles, an embroidered waistcoat and to top it all off, an opera coat and exceedingly tall hat. Where she’d been hiding _that_ Polly couldn’t imagine. They had taken a cab to the theatre (Mal’s money again), the vampire urging the driver on all the way and Polly had scrambled out untidily as they drew to a halt to stop in awe before the ornate entrance to the theatre.

“Uberwaldeans always did go in for show over substance.”

She had turned to see Mal descending from the cab in a fashion most regal. Reaching the cobbles without incident the vampire had stood looking up and down the street, cane under one arm before adjusting the brim of her hat “just-so”.

“So much decoration, so much noise.” Mal looked up at the opera house again. “It almost takes one back.”

Polly had been just about to say something about how she'd seen better in Ankh Morpork (though to be fair she'd never actually been inside the famed Ankh Morpork Opera House) when the vampire had laughed and reached over to absent-mindedly straighten the braid on Polly's jacket.

“Leave it Mal, It’ll do!”

 _(“Especially as I didn’t particularly want to come anyway!” Polly had added silently.)_

A flash of their tickets and they had been inside. Scurrying down what seemed to be endless corridors behind the flying figure of Mal, Polly had known she was being childish, sulking like a teenager in this fashion. But she was so lost in the mess that she couldn’t seem to see a way out of it. Mal had strode on ahead, seeming to know perfectly where she was going. When Polly had voiced an enquiry, she had only vouchsafed that:

“She always sent the same seats”.

 _Did she indeed?_

 _Thinking back now, Polly sighed. With all that travelling, there should have been a at least one moment free to talk about this Tiramisu and how Mal's past fit into the picture of the present day. But Polly had cravenly felt unable to broach the matter and Mal had been seemingly lost in her own thoughts. They’d sat in silence the whole way._

The curtain rose, distracting Polly from her thoughts and she settled into her seat, bracing herself for the next hour of probable boredom before the interval. The stage filled with the tripping forms of skinny girls, dressed most inclemently for the time of year. Beside her Mal seemed to know the dance well, her indrawn breath in unison with the rest of the audience heralding the arrival of the culprit of Polly’s current inner turmoil.

A woman walked simply out onto the stage pausing in the middle. Standing there, picked out by a spotlight she smiled as the applause rose and waited patiently for the swell of appreciation to fade again. She just as small and skinny as any of the others and Polly wondered what on the disc Mal had ever seen in her. This was her competition? This was what she had spent the last week fretting over?

Then the orchestra picked up the theme again, the woman started to dance, and Polly was lost.

It was magical. There were no words for such perfection, such lightness or grace. The control that this artist had over every inch of her body, such that even the smallest movement of a single extremity was capable of expressing whole poems of emotion.

Polly tried to remind herself that it was only dancing, a stupid, silly, inefficient way to tell a story. It was no use. This dancer, who had invaded the small dusty stage and made it her own, was nothing other than perfection itself and the sheer beauty of it brought a physical ache. And Polly could do nothing but sit there, pinned into her seat, painfully hot tears welling up in her eyes. Tiramasu landed lightly from yet another graceful leap and Polly felt the cumbersome weight of her boots pulling her back to reality. She sat up straighter. angrily wiping away the moisture from her cheeks.

Suddenly, as soon as it had begun the dance ended and as the collection of brats moved in to tell the next part of the story Polly withdrew her gaze from the stage to the silent absorbed figure beside her. Mal knew about this. Mal had had this once, all this and more. Perhaps, even now if she wanted, she could have this again.

Polly felt a different kind of tear prickle behind her eyes.

The act went on. The _IdiotPrince_ wandered into the story and, after meandering about the stage with no particular purpose, he eventually led the _SwanPrincess_ into the centre of the stage again and once more they let the magic free. Watching them dance together Polly was torn between loosing herself in the beauty of it all and retreating from the entire theatre into a miserable world of pain.

Both woman sat in silence through both intervals, Mal was seemingly unwilling to venture out into the bar between acts, lost in the story and the magic. Polly was glad of it, she didn't think she could move.

As the curtain fell for the last time, after what seemed like a million curtain calls and after a whole warehouse of flowers had been thrown onto the stage, there was a knock at the back of the box and an usher appeared with a note. Polly turned from where she had been adding her efforts to the long standing ovation that the audience had been more than pleased to bestow, and saw Mal flicking the paper with her finger, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. She raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

“She’s invited us backstage.” A grin broke out over Mal's face. “Should be fun, there’s usually free drinks and food that the corpse never eat”

“I should think not.”

Mal laughed. “The _Corps de Ballet,_ Polly. The extras, the other ones, not the stars.”

 _Oh. The skinny bratlets had a name then. Obviously people who were intimately connected with people who could dance like that would know such things. It was a shame such people were now stuck with country bumpkins who didn't even know what a plié was._

Polly trailed after Mal down the various staircases, crossing from the ornate front of house to the more utilitarian backstage areas. She supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised that the business end of the theatre was just that, business. But she thought they could have afforded their artists at least a little gold filigree.

Mal knocked at a door with a star on it and, turning to see Polly brushing unsuccessfully at the dull shine on her boots, laughed and told her she should have taken up the vampire's offer of proper boots earlier. Polly scowled at her cuffs as she straightened them but managed to drag up a smile as the door opened. It was a wasted effort, the elderly woman who barred the entrance was not one who would be wooed by smiles, fake or otherwise. Luckily her firm countenance, impervious to vampiric flattery, was susceptible to the little note that the usher had given them and they were waved through into the inner sanctum. Here Polly found her ordeal was just beginning as a crowded room, full of the great and good of all the mountain states in all their finery, turned to stare at the new arrivals. She wished she hadn't worn the Cheesemonger Red. It had meaning down here. That this was more than partly due to the past activities of a certain Sergeant Perks didn't help her piece of mind one iota.

“Maličká!”

The cry came from within the densest cluster of people, the crowd opening out like flower petals to reveal the diminutive form of the ballerina.

“ _Little one?_ ” Polly's astonished whisper was pitched perfectly to travel no further than the vampire in front of her.

“I was smaller than most of the rest of The Bright Young Things.” Mal shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I was younger then, remember? And I'm not that tall for a male vampire anyway.”

“So she thinks you're...?”

But the object of their conversation was upon them and Polly had to swallow her questions for another time.

“Ma chérie.” Mal bowed over the offered hand and delicately kissed the slender fingers. “You were exquisite. As always.”

“And your flowers were _incroyable_ , as always.” Tiramasu indicated the bunch of bold blooms sitting in a vase beside the cluttered dressing table. “The gentleman from the florist could only apologise and suggest that perhaps the clacks message had been wrongly transcribed.”

They smiled, sharing a private joke and Polly, not wanting to have to observe their connection, shifted her attention and her balance to examine some of the more frivolous decoration.

“So this is your little soldier girl?”

Mal half-nodded, putting out a hand to bring Polly back into the circle.

“I am so very pleased to finally meet you.”

Gracious to the last, Tiramasu was extending a slim arm in perfect artistry and Polly, copying Mal's previous response, bowed over the offered hand and touched cold lips to the knuckles there.

“Likewise,” she murmured, swallowing the other burning questions that rose to her lips.

As Polly rose, she caught a look of relief on Mal's face that was quickly masked. All three shared a polite smile, Polly feeling the knife inside turn one more agonising rotation and grateful that she’d had practice putting on a bland faintly interested face. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. However, before Polly was forced to produce a topic of polite conversation, someone entered behind them in a great show of pomp and circumstance and the crowd flowed around them to reform in fresh formation.

“We should leave you to your adoring fans.”

“Again?”

Mal and Tiramasu shared another private smile while Polly examined the plasterwork in the ceiling and wished she'd been permitted to bring her sword. _Not that she was thinking of using it on anybody. Just as something to rest a hand on. In case it were ever to be needed._ She sighed. _Even a stint on the high patrol, blizzards and all, would be preferable to this._

Mal bowed once more over that slim hand and then with a small wave from Tiramasu to Polly they were released. Polly didn't wave back. As they pushed through the crowd by the door, Polly took perhaps more pleasure than was necessary in planting her solid boots on some more delicate hosiery. Then they were out in the corridor and the cooler air was chill on the back of her neck.

“She liked you.”

Polly looked round. Mal was hovering at her shoulder, seemingly considering whether the corridor was wide enough to link arms. Polly didn't think so. Conceding that perhaps it was not possible after all, Mal fell into step behind her instead, hands dropping into her pockets with accustomed ease.

“She seemed to know me.”

Polly glanced back to see Mal's shrug.

“I dropped in to visit her last winter, she was doing a tour of Uberwald and I had some free time.”

“While I was away in Ankh Morpork.”

“While you were in Ankh Morpork,” Mal agreed.

Polly turned her face forward again and tried to recall the way back to the foyer.

 _There had been some flyers drifting around Ankh Morpork about a ballerina taking the company to do a whistle-stop tour of her homeland. “Catch the greatest show on The Dysc before it leaves for the mountains” the posters had said. She'd been struggling with getting anyone to take her seriously at that point and hadn't had time for frivolities. Obviously Mal had._

The night was clear and cold when they emerged at the top of those wide steps. A crowd was circling in the street, some waiting for the ballerina to emerge, some struggling through the crush to get to clearer streets and on their way home to warm beds. Polly drew in a shivering breath and, looking up, tried to pick out a single familiar constellation out of the night sky. Before all this, Mal had been teaching her the many fables and ancient tales of the stars that pricked out the darkness above the border. Just one familiar twinkle would be enough. But the glare from the torches that lined the steps prevented her from seeing anything except a dark expanse. She pulled the collar of the hated jacket up round her neck and felt even further from home.

Mal, coming up alongside her, looked out of the crowd before nudging Polly with her shoulder.

“Cold night, hmm?” Her gaze swept the square. “I wonder if they still have late-night coffee shops in Bonk?”

Mal stepped forward and began to forge a way down the steps, Polly having to hurry to keep up. _Damn vampires and their coffee addictions. There was nothing she wanted less than to stumble through these foreign streets looking for caffeinated beverages. What she really wanted to do was go back to the hotel, pull the covers over her head and refuse to come out until the world went back to how it had been when a certain vampire had been her friend and nothing more and things had been much less complicated._ But, like the proverbial sheep, she followed on without protest.

They reached a wide boulevard and began to walk briskly along it. Before long Polly realised she’d been a little too quiet since their departure from the opera house. Wary of Mal’s inconvenient perception she struggled to find something to say.

“She dances well.”

That was the truth at least. And she hadn’t added anything about her being a girlfriend stealer.

Mal agreed, perhaps too vehemently.

“You should have seen her back then, she had everyone falling at her feet”

“Even you?”

Polly couldn’t help it, though she wished the words unsaid as soon as they left her.

Mal stopped short, not bothered that she was holding up the pavement traffic. The opera goers tutted amongst themselves but divided around them without incident and flowed on down the road.

“Oh, is this what this is about? Are we doing this now?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

Recognising she was causing an obstruction, Mal resumed walking and Polly was forced to fall into step beside her or be left behind in a city she didn’t know. But Mal didn't follow the tide for long, instead turning into the first side-street they came across. Walking a few paces away from the junction, she came to a halt in the middle of the empty street. Polly, lagging behind, remained on the pavement, leaning against the side of the tall buildings that lined each side of the grimy little lane. She waited. Mal removed her tall hat, ran a distracted hand through carefully smoothed locks and then took a deep breath and turned to face Polly.

“I came here to see a beautiful talented dancer perform her very last performance ever. A very talented dancer who was once a good friend of mine, someone who meant a lot to me back in the times before you were probably even born.”

“Because I'm so very young.”

Polly folded her arms, leaning even more nonchalantly against the building. _Who cared if the city grime transferred to her trousers? It wasn't like she had wanted them anyway_. She watched from behind angry walls as Mal took a single step forward.

“You are _quite_ young, Polly. Compared to me. I've a full-length couple of life-times lived that you know barely anything about.”

“Because you don't ever talk about them! And you've never mentioned anything about the lifetime that includes her!”

Polly had pushed herself away from the building in her frustration. The distance between them had thus abruptly shortened and Mal, who had been just raising her foot to step up onto the pavement, retreated back a stride.

“I told you some things.”

“Not recently.”

“I didn't think you'd want to know!”

“I didn't think I did either! But these pasts made you who you are, Mal. Not the person you put out for the world to see. I thought I was being gifted the chance to know that person, but now I'm not so sure. I don't even know why you came here tonight.”

Mal might only have been lower than Polly by the height of the pavement but non-the-less the sergeant towered over her as she looked up to angrily defend herself.

“I came here out of respect!”

“Respect for what?! For the heady days of your youth? For the times when you could bed four débutantes and a ballerina every night and still have appetite for breakfast?”

Polly turned away, vaguely noticing that the last opera-goers were still drifting past the end of the street. Behind her she heard Mal kick something that rattled away into the darkness.

“I’ve lived a long time Polly, what did you expect me to do, live the life of a eunuch?” Mal blew out a sigh of frustration. “Why is this harder for you than the fact I killed people in a multitude of inventive little ways?”

“I don’t know!”

But it was harder non-the-less. She angrily wiped away a rebellious tear.

She heard the crunch of a heel as Mal turned away abruptly, swearing under her breath. No-one swears quite like a vampire, especially one that has been in the army. It was a good swear and it went on some time. Polly shifted so that she could watch the vampire out of the corner of her eye. If Mal was going to walk off into the darkness, she wanted to at least be able to shout something aptly insulting at her retreating back. However, if, as it seemed, Mal was just going to stand there airing her vocabulary, then Polly wasn't about to hang around for her to run out of air. She was just about to leave the vampire to it, when Mal came to a close, very carefully didn't hit the wall and turned back round.

“Right.”

It was a very definite statement of intentions but as Polly was non-the-less still refusing to face her, staring out into the road with her arms crossed it didn't quite fulfil its purpose. Mal, placing a hand on Polly's arm, mounted the pavement and manoeuvred their positions until they were both stood face to face. Polly, having allowed her to come this far, found something very interesting to observe over Mal's shoulder and declined to meet her eyes.

“Polly, listen to me.” Mal’s hands were resting lightly at Polly’s elbows holding her still. “When I went to see her, all we talked about was you. Yes, I loved her, past tense.” Her eyes dropped, bad memories surfacing. “I loved her, I screwed up and I left her. It was a stupid thing to do and I did it in the worst possible way.” She paused for a second before adding “I heard she danced it off.”

Glancing over, Polly caught a the hint of wry grimace pass over Mal’s face at the thought of Tiramasu getting on in life thanks to her idiocy. She looked away again, not really in the mood to interject any sort of sympathy. But her unfaithful vampire was still talking.

“Now I love you.” Her hands slid up to Polly’s shoulders and began to gently shake her back and forth. Polly was forced to meet her eyes.

“Present tense. You.”

Those traitorous hands were sliding up to cup her face as that persuasive voice kept on, speaking quietly now with loving seriousness.

“My daft little soldier girl, who occasionally snores like a horse, has the unfortunate tendency to sleep on my arm more often than is comfortable and kicks me out of bed any time she has any sort of energetic dream. _You_.”

A look of confusion crept over her face as she met Polly’s expression.

“ _Pol?_ What?”

“You _love_ me?”

“Did you think I only wanted you for your body? Not that it isn't tempting...” Mal's eyes quickly ran up and down that trim form. “Of course I love you! What the hell did you think we were doing?”

Polly felt the tiny flickering of a spark of hope

“Even if I don't like these trousers?”

The parts of Polly's brain that had been embarrassed earlier, suddenly woke up and cheered riotously. Mal, however, was saying nothing.

“I mean it Mal, you can't buy me things just because I'm not up to some special “standard”. My clothes might be old but they're mine, like it or lump it. If a skint office clerk struggling on a sergeants pay isn't good enough for you then you can...” Polly had to pause to swallow the lump in her throat. “You can just go elsewhere!”

She turned to leave, wiping a quick palm across her cheek but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you back then?”

The soft words held a note of hopefully enquiry that snagged Polly out of her straight course to the end of the street and she allowed them to swing her back round. The light from the main street fell over her shoulder, full onto Mal's face. Polly blinked. For some odd reason there appeared to be a look of relief creeping into Mal's eyes. The vampire took a couple of quick steps and, placing a hand on Polly's sleeve, squinting in the low light at her shadowed face as she tried to make out her expression.

“Are you really back?”

Polly frowned, confused, and Mal quickly dropped the hand that had captured her, stepping back to scuff a toe in the dirt.

“I missed you.”

Polly replayed that simple throwaway remark. Mal's hands were back in her pockets again, the vampire adopting disinterested position number 14. But there was something not quite right. Polly's mind whirled, observation and assessment working overtime. Position 14 ought to be accompanied by a detailed examination of the middle distance and yet Mal's eyes were seemingly rooted to the ground at her feet.

“You seemed to get lost somewhere, in all the... _things_.” Mal's deathly pallor lightened for a moment, in what Polly had come to learn was the vampiric equivalent of a blush. “I tried but I couldn't work out how to make it right, couldn't figure out where I'd gone wrong. I'm sorry, Pol.”

The wait seemed to go on forever.

“I didn't know if that was how it worked...” It was Polly who now found the rough cobbles of the street intensely interesting. “I wasn't sure...”

She felt Mal's hands take hers, the cool grip comfortingly stable as the world teetered around them.

“I told you, I _tried_ to tell you... That time up on the tower... I thought you knew. Why Pol, you're crying!” Mal wiped away the traitorous moisture. “Sweet Pol, don't cry, please don't cry.”

 _Oh gods. She couldn't cry in front of Mal_. (Those parts of Polly's brain that had cheered just moments earlier, were now contemplating ritual suicide)

“It's just... I was so miserable...” Polly caught her breath on a sob. “I missed you and I thought such terrible things...”

She was crying openly now, that ugly crying that hobbled the speech and produced hideous mucus from all kinds of weird places (she told the cringing voices to shut up, that as she was crying from happiness it didn’t count, and that seeing as they hadn't been any help earlier they could just go talk a long walk off a very short precipice). Mal gave a short laugh, the tension easing from her body, and pulled Polly closer, wrapping strong arms around her.

“Oh _Polly_. My dear daft human tasty snack. Naturally, I've only ever been after you for your body!”

And Polly went willingly, arms sliding under that oh-so-posh opera coat to rest at the base of the silk waistcoat, separated from that slender back only by the thin material of Mal's shirt. She could feel that the vampire was still quietly laughing, the rivulets of amusement shaking them both as they stood together, Mal's soft breath gusting over Polly’s hair. Let her laugh. Polly held on tight, inhaling the mix of coffee and good linen that was the essence of Mal and let the fear wash out of her on cleansing tears. Alerted by that grip, Mal's laughter evaporated, the arm around Polly's shoulders tightening securely even as the other rubbed soothing circles in her mid-back. Amusement put aside for a more appropriate occasion, she held the woman in silence.

They stood there in the empty street, the last of the opera crowd now long gone, and Mal even managed to refrain from commenting on the probably deleterious effect of salty tears on black satin. She did, however, raise a hand to lift away a blonde curl, her lips brushing lightly over the curve of Polly's ear, as she whispered:

“I love you, you daft idiot.”

Polly produced a most unromantic noise.

Mal made no further comment but merely kissed the small fraction of temple available to her and went back to ignoring the ruination of her opera cloak.

Before long the outburst waned and, wiping away the last of her tears, Polly allowed herself to be manoeuvred ever so slightly until she was settled, nestling in the curve of Mal's arm. She sniffed, refusing as yet to raise her head and patted her pockets for the ever elusive handkerchief. Mal offered a square of beautifully embroidered linen and made no comment on the damage that shortly ensued to its delicate folds. There was a somewhat awkward silence.

“I can’t believe I did that.”

“Did what?”

Mal was still holding her. Still protecting her within that encircling arm, a warm, almost human barrier that shut out the real world and all its stupid misunderstandings.

“All those hours in the coach, all that week before. I knew, if I just asked...”

She felt the rumble of laughter deep in Mal's chest.

“Oh, Polly Perks. My Polly.”

There was a brief flutter of hair against her ear as Mal shook her head sadly.

“The valiant Sergeant Perks, negotiator extraordinaire: stops wars and puts generals in their place. But yet somehow, can’t give voice to a simple question with regard to defining her dalliance.”

Mal's teasing words were softened by the gentle hand that had taken possession of the handkerchief and was now wiping away the last vestiges of tears.

“It's a terrible thing to see.” Mal gently kissed the eyelids that hid reddened eyes. “Oh woe, and such sayings. How are the mighty fallen.”

“Hey!” Polly pinched the skin under her hand and was rewarded by a surprised yelp. “Have some respect for the senior NCO.”

Ignoring her protest Mal tucked the delicate square of linen away and kept talking,

“You know, I think I like you in this guise. A romantic figure ripped from the pages of a novella. I can just imagine you fainting delicately onto a _chaise longue…_ calling feebly for your smelling salts...”

Mal would have gone on, but Polly reached up and silenced that mocking mouth with her own.

~X~

Thanks to whichever gods were keeping an eye on them this week they had found a coffee shop still open despite the late hour. Apart from a mature woman sitting quietly at a table alone reading, and a couple of what looked like the local mad inventor's apprentices whispering together over some plans, the place had been deserted. Being so far away from home they had decided there was no need to bother with appearances and had made a beeline for the couches in secluded alcoves at the back of the room. They were now sat snuggled up in one of these, Mal in what might almost be considered the correct position and Polly half-lying on her lap, resting equally between the arm of their cocooning furniture and a skinny chest with her feet up at the other end of the couch. There had been talking and then not talking. From the clutter on the table it appeared they had been there for some time.

“My cup is empty”

Mal examined the coffee cup that she was holding in her spare hand. It had been empty for a while but she had been up till now unaware of this terrible state of affairs. This was in good part due to nefarious behaviour on the part of the occupant of her lap who had refused to pass it back to her after they had been forced to put it down during an extended session of exploration.

“Oh dear.”

Polly knew she hadn't quite managed to dredge up the requisite level of concern. She was comfortably warm, curled up catlike on her human plaything, and held securely against the possibility of falling by loving arms. In short: she was happy.

Mal looked up from her cup, amusement bubbling into her eyes.

“I require a refill.”

“The man should be around somewhere, give him a wave.”

He’d been assiduously avoiding their corner even since he’d come by recently to check if they needed anything more and interrupted them in one of the more intense interactions of the evening. When her dismissive wave hadn’t shifted him Mal had managed to drag her mouth away from Polly’s for the briefest moment to ensure him they were fine. His scuttling departure had sent Polly into a paroxysm of giggles. Mal had responded differently, growling with frustration into the throat bared under her teeth even as Polly threw back her head to more freely express her amusement. The interesting sensations that the vibrations born of that growl threw up along Polly's spine as they travelled down her neck had halted the giggles abruptly and they had quickly returned to return to the business in hand. Much to their host's discomfort.

“I don’t think he’ll look over this way ever again.” Mal felt a ripple of silent laughter run quickly through the delicious weight on her knees. “I’m going to have to go and get it myself.”

“And they call this service?” Polly waved a dismissive hand. “I thought Bonk was meant to the capital of this fair country, these Uberwaldeans are crazy.”

“You’re just grumpy because you’ve got to move. Lazybones.” Mal tapped the end of Polly's nose disapprovingly. “Besides, it’s your fault; you shouldn’t have laughed at him like that. In a fair world you should be the one that has to wander over there and get me a refill of this wonderful beverage.”

“But I’m comfy.” Polly plundered her arsenal and produced a perfect pair of puppy dog eyes but Mal remained unmoved and merely jolted her with an unexpected knee twitch.

“Wiggle over Pol – caffeine awaits!”

Grumbling under her breath, Polly allowed Mal to slide out, settling back into the space left behind. But it wasn’t as comfortable without a Mal-shaped cushion so she hauled herself upright to sit against the arm instead, hugging her knees. Glancing round the café from her new vantage point she noticed that there were still crumbs of _Pryaniki_ left on the table. She reached out a finger to collect them and was drawing it back to her extended tongue when she looked up to catch Mal’s eyes burning into her from the counter. Caught in the act, her demeanour switched suddenly from naughty child to wicked temptress and holding the vampires gaze she sucked on the finger, investigating it thoroughly with her tongue before pulling it out with an audible pop.

It didn’t quite have the effect she was looking for. Mal merely sighed and shook her head as she turned back to the coffee pot, replacing it on the heated stand and carefully picking up the small cup between figure and thumb in preparation for returning to her seat. At the last minute however, she flicked out the smallest glance across the room, as though to see if Polly would do it again. Caught in turn and rightly skewered on Polly’s raised eyebrow, she surrendered and gave up the beautiful small smile that was Polly’s and Polly’s alone.

On Mal's return to their little corner, Polly shifted to let the vampire back in, settling once again into her old position. Snaffling the coffee cup as it passed her nose she sniffed deeply of the brew within and, ignoring Mal’s protests, took a sip. She heard Mal laugh as she scrunched up her face in disgust, and sighed. Try as she might Polly couldn’t like the taste of coffee, except on Mal. She handed over the cup, receiving a tap on the nose for her thievery, and relaxed back into her companion.

Mal sipped her coffee. Polly picked a couple of pieces of lint off her sleeve, depositing them over the side of the couch. It was a moment's perfect harmony.

Polly thought about that little smile of Mal's. It made her want to do things. Things she hadn’t really considered before, like buy Mal flowers, or research rare gramophone records for her, or make her laugh when her face closed and her eyes shut out the world. She leant back against the arm of the couch, tilting her head so she could see the face above her. Mal was concentrating on her coffee, savouring the aroma in the steam drifting up around her face.

“So now I can get away with anything, right? Cos you love me?[9]”

Mal smirked around her coffee cup, denial in her eyes. But Polly continued regardless.

“Yeah, cos I reckon now I’m the love of your life I can get away with ‘most everything.”

She grinned, dropping her head into the hollow of Mal's shoulder and leaving it there. Letting her eyes droop closed she waited for that slow thump, the solidity under her ear that was Mal's rare heartbeat. Above her head, Mal sipped at the hot beverage but said nothing. Silence fell. A new thread of tension running through the quiet alerted Polly and she tilted her head back again. Mal, coffee now seemingly forgotten, was staring over out over her head into nothing.

“Mal?”

This was worrying, anything that could distract the vampire's attention from coffee had to be pretty serious. Polly wiggled round so that she could see better, nudging Mal encouragingly as she resettled herself against the couch. Mal didn't seem to notice her re-deployment. But she did swap hands, putting the coffee cup aside, the hand that was now holding it resting on the arm of the couch behind Polly's back. Her other arm, freed from cup holding duties, drifted aimlessly before settling on Polly’s waist. Then, still looking out over Polly's shoulder, Mal asked, in a light, inconsequential tone,

“What about me, what can I get away with?”

“You already get away with everything!”

Polly realised immediately what she had said, even as the words were half way out of her mouth and, cursing herself for a fool, sat up to better give Mal the full Perks Stare-of-Sincerity.

“You,” she poked Mal tenderly over the heart, “can get away with anything, my abominable spawn of evil-most-foul, because I love you. Okay?”

And Mal smiled.

Polly settled back into her embrace, sliding one arm around Mal's ribs in order to better enable her to snuggle in closer. There may have been something of close approximation to a hug. If vampires hugged that was. In public. Which they didn't. So it wasn't. But this thing they were doing, whatever it was or wasn't, continued without comment until Mal reached her 'time without imbibing coffee' limit and was forced to move Polly to one side so that she could access her coffee cup. Polly sighed.

“So much for the deep and meaningful moment.”

“Abomination,” Mal explained.

“True.”

Polly leant back against the arm of the couch so that she could more clearly see the loathsome object she was now apparently stuck with for the foreseeable future.

“Drink your coffee and let’s go find somewhere two abominations can dance the night away. I may not be a ballerina, but I can swing with the best of them. Bonk does have Jazz clubs doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I’m sure we can find something.”

And Mal produced her wickedest grin.

~X~

[9] As mentioned earlier, there had been talking. A lot of talking. The main outcome of which was that previously common behaviours and responses were more than welcome to make a re-appearance, up to -but not including- the throwing of things at Mal's head.


End file.
